;-NRLF 


DUPLICATE 


JU 

IN! 


76 

Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


By 

Rev.  Edward  C.Jones,  A.M. 


Philadelphia 
Mdcccxcix 


COPYRIGHT,  1898 

BY 
JULIA  L.  WALKER 


r 


P 


1 


- 


IN  MEMORY 

OF 

MY  BELOVED    FATHER 


M191955 


My  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty,' 
Of  thee  I  sing." 


PREFACE 


THIS  volume  is  intended  for  the  patriotic 
people  of  America,  who  hold  in  grateful  remem 
brance  the  memory  of  those  who  fought  the 
battles,  framed  the  Constitution,  and  adminis 
tered  the  government  in  the  early  days  of  our 
country. 

Time  should  not  lessen  this  feeling  of  interest 
and  pride  in  our  forefathers,  but  it  should  be  kept 
alive  ;  and  it  is  the  hope  of  the  publisher  that  this 
little  book  may  assist  in  keeping  bright  the  spark 
that  influenced  the  Revolutionary  patriots. 

That  the  Revolutionary  period  is  still  regarded 
with  pride  is  shown  by  the  recent  interest  in  the 
hereditary  patriotic  societies  of  the  land,  having 
for  their  foundation  the  love  for  and  history  of 
the  heroic  age  of  our  republic. 

The  poems  presented  were  written  almost  half 
5 


Preface 

a  century  ago,    and   have   been    selected   as  the 
most  interesting  of  a  large  collection. 

May  they  awaken   in  the  reader  the  patriotic 
fervor  of  the  author. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

General  Joseph  Warren .  9 

Patrick  Henry : n 

Gage  and  Washington 13 

Sergeant  Jasper 16 

The  Battle  of  Long  Island  and  the  Retreat   ....  18 

Marquis  de  La  Fayette 21 

Stark,  of  Bennington ....  24 

Valley  Forge 27 

Washington  crossing  the  Delaware          29 

The  Omen  at  Princeton 31 

Surrender  of  Burgoyne 33 

Retreat  from  Barren  Hill 36 

The-  Victory  at  Monmouth 39 

Middle-brook 42 

Wyoming ...  44 

Putnam's  Leap    .    .                                               ....  47 

Stony  Point .  49 

The  Muscovy  Drake 51 

Marion's  Dinner 53 

( )ld  Continental  Paper 56 

Flamhorough  Head 60 

The  Soliloquy  of  Arnold 63 

The  Capture  of  Andre" 66 

Andre"  on  the  Eve  of  Execution             69 

Tin-  Boy  Hero  of  Ramsour's  Mill 72 

Marie  Antoinette 74 

7 


Contents 

PAGE 

Tarleton  and  the  Ladies 77 

The  Dead  in  Battle 80 

General  Greene  and  the  Clapboards 83 

King's  Mountain 85 

Fort  Ninety-six 89 

The  Heights  above  Santee 92 

Colonel  Hayne    .    : , 95 

The  same  Old  Drum 100 

The  Baron  De  Kalb 103 

Mrs.  Washington  in  Camp 105 

Washington's  Visit  to  his  Mother 107 

General  Woodhull no 

Five  Days  too  Late 113 

Francis's  Tavern 115 

Washington  resigning  his  Commission 119 

Treaties  of  Amity 121 

The  Regiment  of  Ten 124 

Administer  the  Oath      127 

The  First  Cabinet 130 

The  Closing  Lyric 132 


•76 

Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


*** 

GENERAL  JOSEPH    WARREN.* 

THE  Old  South  Church,  where  Freedom  swung 

Her  censer  full  and  free, 
And  Warren's  bold,  untrammelled  tongue 
On  despots'  ears  its  changes  rung, 

Our  bosom  warms  to  thee. 

Along  the  aisle  the  scarlet  coats, 

Ranged  in  a  phalanx  deep, 
But  fearless  rolled  the  master  notes, 
And  in  the  tide  an  atom  floats, 

The  blades  which  dare  not  leap. 


*  General  Joseph  Warren  delivered  an  oration  in  the 
Old  South  Church,  of  Boston,  when  the  British  bayonets 
guarded  the  very  pulpit.  He  fell  afterwards  at  Bunker 
Hill. 

9 


'  jb  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

From  that  old  guarded  pulpit  height, 

Where  glows  the  bristling  steel, 
Beams  forth  a  never-fading  light, 
The  ray  of  truth  and  conscious  right, 
And  millions  toward  it  kneel. 

What  is  the  bayonet  to  him, 

Who,  girt  with  justice  stern, 
Peals  to  the  heaven  his  freedom  hymn, 
And  rallies  hearts,  and  eyes  now  dim 
Bids  with  emotion  burn  ? 

What  is  to  him  the  banded  force, 

With  glitter  all  bedight  ? 
If  checked  the  lightning  in  its  course. 
If  lulled  by  threat  the  billow  hoarse, 

Then  arms  his  soul  may  fright. 

But  while  a  man  he  stands  unawed, 

Save  by  his  Maker's  frown, 
As  mounts  the  lark  from  dewy  sod, 
His  spirit  soars  to  truth  and  God, 

Nor  minions  cast  it  down. 

On  Bunker's  battled  height  there  stood, 

He  who  that  pulpit  graced  ; 
The  beautiful,  the  true,  the  good, 
Sealed  what  he  uttered  with  his  blood, 

Nor  run  that  blood  to  waste. 

10 


'?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

For  millions  caught  the  patriot  glow, 

From  mountain-top  to  dale, 
And  dealt  a  more  than  iron  blow, 
And  hailed  a  despot's  overthrow, 
While  we  rehearse  the  tale. 


PATRICK    HENRY. 

"  Our  chains  are  forged  ;  their  clanking  may  be  heard 
on  the  plains  of  Boston  ;  the  next  gale  may  bring  to  our 
c-ars  the  clash  of  resounding  arms." 

VIEW  that  eagle  eye, — that  brow, 
Seeming  God  illumined  now  ; 
Watch  that  sinewy  arm,  whose  sweep 
Is  the  gauge  of  feeling  deep  ; 
Hear  those  words  of  forceful  aim, 
Every  syllable  a  flame  : 

''  They  have  forged  our  massy  chains, 
Clank  they  now  on  Boston's  plains, 
And  the  gale  may  shortly  bring 
News  of  Freedom's  suffering  ; 
Freighted  now  that  gale  may  be 
With  deep  tones  of  misery. 
Iron  heel  is  on  our  shore, 
Myrmidons  come  thronging  o'er, 
ii 


'/£>  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Quartered  on  us  as  of  old, 
Wolf  has  ever  watched  the  fold. 
See  them  march  with  pompous  tread  ! 
Rush-like,  shall  we  bow  the  head  ? 
Yield  our  heaven-born  rights  because 
'Tis  a  crown  that  issues  laws  ! 
Higher  than  the  Crown  arise 
Human  hopes  and  liberties  ; 
All  its  jewels  in  a  blaze, 
Cast  no  shade  on  Freedom's  rays. 
Streaming  from  yon  upper  dome, 
Come,  supernal  radiance,  come  ! 
Light  us  onward,  beacon-fire  ! 
And,  as  on  a  funeral  pyre, 
Wrong,  yes,  chartered  wrong,  shall  be 
Nought  but  ashes  to  the  free. 
Brothers,  talk  not  now  of  peace  ; 
Let  such  fond  delusion  cease. 
When  ye  heard  that  booming  gun, 
Far  away  in  Lexington, 
When  arose  the  sulphur  wreath, 
Telling  heroes  fought  beneath, 
Concord  took  another  name, 
And  baptized  afresh  became. 
They  are  fiery  pillars  now  ; 
By  them  guided,  seal  your  vow, 
Look  to  Concord,  Lexington  ! 
See  the  foe  retreating  then, 
And  if  ye  no  throbbing  feel, 
12 


'/£  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

If  your  arm  no  strength  reveal, 
If  your  proud,  dilating  soul, 
Spurneth  not  all  base  control, 
Manhood  from  the  brow  erase, 
And  in  dust  conceal  your  face  ! 
God  of  Hosts  !  appeal  to  Thee 
Those  who  pant  for  liberty  ! 
Here,  among  our  breezy  hills, 
Here,  beside  our  dancing  rills, 
Here,  where  broad  savannas  sweep, 
Swords,  like  flames,  shall  fiercely  leap, 
Hills,  and  streams,  and  plains  shall  be 
Only  ours — and  we  be  free  ! ' ' 


GAGE  AND   WASHINGTON. 

Twenty  years  had  elapsed  since  General  Washington 
and  General  Gage  had  fought  side  by  side  on  the  bloody 
battle-field  of  the  Monongahela.  The  one  was  now 
obeying  the  commands  of  his  sovereign,  the  other  up 
holding  the  cause  of  an  oppressed  people. — JARED 
SPARKS. 

'TwAS  summer  morn  !     A  gallant  band, 

With  arms  of  burnished  steel, 
Marched  by  the  river's  side,  inspired 

By  war's  awakening  peal, 
While  on  the  left  the  forest  deep 
Was  startled  from  its  ancient  sleep. 
13 


*7<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

'Twas  summer  eve  !     That  gallant  band, 

With  half  its  number  slain, 
A  panic-stricken  remnant,  fled, 

And  crossed  the  stream  again  ; 
For  Braddock's  sun  was  darkened  now, 
And  death-dew  on  his  writhing  brow. 


Conversing  low,  two  youthful  forms 

Upon  that  eve  were  seen, 
When  French  and  Indian  poured  the  fire 

From  deep  and  dark  ravine  ; 
When  battle-cloud  had  rolled  away, 
Among  the  living  still  were  they. 

Beneath  the  one  two  noble  steeds 

Had  fallen  in  the  fray  ; 
The  other,  leading  on  the  van, 

Stood  hero-like  that  day  ; 
Knit  in  the  bonds  of  friendship  there, 
When  shall  they  meet  again,  and  where  f 

Pass  twenty  years  ;  on  Bunker  Hill 

The  contest  rages  now, 
And  men  aggrieved  with  wrong  are  there 

To  ratify  their  vow  ; 
But  sternly  as  they  kept  their  trust, 
Freedom's  dear  ensign  trailed  in  dust. 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revohition 

Hope  on,  hope  ever,  one  there  comes 

To  head  his  country's  force  ; 
Trust  him  to  breast  the  tide  that  sweeps 

Its  desolating  course. 
At  Braddock's  side  he  played  the  man  ; 
Still  is  he  first  in  glory's  van. 

On  Boston's  heights  a  freeman's  camp 

Held  that  majestic  form  ; 
He  grasps  his  pen,  and,  as  he  writes, 

His  pensive  features  warm  ; 
He  thinks  of  one  who  near  him  stood 
Where  rolled  Monongahela's  flood. 

To  him  he  wrote,  the  leader  here 

Of  yonder  British  band, 
Now  pouring  death  on  humble  hearts 

At  sovereignty's  command, — 
Here,  when  the  first  great  strife  was  o'er, 
Met  Gage  and  Washington  once  more  ! 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

SERGEANT  JASPER. 

"On  the  28th  of  June,  1776,  the  British  fleet  advanced 
against  the  fort  on  Sullivan's  Island  (Fort  Moultrie). 
The  engagement  began  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  fore 
noon,  and  lasted  till  seven  in  the  evening.  In  this  obsti 
nate  engagement  the  flagstaff  of  the  fort  was  shot  away  ; 
but  Sergeant  Jasper  leaped  down  upon  the  beach, 
snatched  the  flag,  fastened  it  to  a  sponge-staff,  and, 
while  the  ships  were  directing  their  broadsides  upon  the 
fort,  mounting  the  merlon,  replaced  the  flag." 

SHINING  through  the  battle-wreath 

Like  a  meteor  gay, 
Catching  glances,  firing  hearts, 

Waved  the  flag  that  day  ; 
Swifter  than  the  meteor  shoots 

From  its  airy  dome, 
Rapid  as  descending  bird 

To  its  nest  would  come, 
To  the  beach  the  staff  now  went, 
Toppling  from  the  battlement. 

How  the  galling  cannonade 

Heaved  the  water's  breast ! 
But  a  granite  giant  stood 

In  its  tranquil  rest ; 
And  the  good  old  fort  returned 

All  its  deadlier  hail, 
Till  amid  the  lurid  glare 

Parker's  cheek  was  pale, 
16 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

For  'tis  rebels  who  compete 
With  Britannia's  noble  fleet. 


But  the  flag  !  it  must  not  lie 

In  dishonored  state  ; 
Made  to  wave  against  the  sky, 

Like  a  soul  elate, 
Catching  purer  breath  from  heaven, 

As  from  dust  it  soars, 
Is  there  one  who  to  its  height 

That  dear  flag  restores  ? 
Heroes  !  wash  its  dust  away  ! 
Was  it  made  to  kiss  the  clay  ? 

"Symbol  of  my  country's  hope," — 

Thus  one  patriot  cried,— 
"  Formed  beneath  yon  azure  cope, 

Yet  to  wave  our  pride, 
Here,  within  the  bomb-shell's  range, 

Leap  I  to  the  beach  ; 
Guardian  angel,  of  the  fort, 

Still  within  my  reach, 
Ne'er  did  diver  in  the  sea 
Plunge  for  pearl  so  pure  as  thce  !" 

He  has  gained  it,  and  his  brow 

All  the  soul  reveals  ; 
Up  the  merlon  !  Jasper,  now, 

Up,  amid  the  peals 
2  17 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

From  thy  comrades'  lips  which  come, 

And,  while  there,  oh,  place 
In  its  stony  keep  the  flag 

Which  has  spurned  disgrace  ! 
See  !  it  floats  again  !     Brave  heart, 
Thou  hast  played  a  Roman  part  ! 

Deeds  there  are  which  to  the  soul 

Come  like  bursts  of  song, 
Deeds  which  from  the  days  of  yore 

Sweep  like  chant  along  ; 
Deeds  which  stir  the  blood,  though  old, 

Light  the  dullest  eye  ; 
Deeds  which  bear  thy  broadest  stamp, 

Immortality  ! 

One  of  such  deeds,  by  blest  decree, 
Was,  Jasper,  thus  reserved  for  thee. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LONG  ISLAND  AND 
THE  RETREAT. 

The   historical  facts  embodied  in  this  lyric  are  from 
Frost's  "  History  of  the  United  States,"  pages  219-221. 

A  LENGTHENED  line  of  bravest  hearts  stood  on 

that  island  fair, 
'Twas  August  eve,  and  sultriness  was  brooding  in 

the  air  ; 

18 


'  76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

He  reined  his  charger,  he  their  chief,  who  on  them 

leaned  for  aid, 
And  bared  to  heaven  his  brow  serene,  and  paused 

but  once,  and  said  : 

"Soldiers!    a  brilliant    host   encamps    upon    this 

fragrant  sod, 
Clinton  and  Cornwallis,  and  Grant,  shall  give  but 

once  the  nod, 
When  all  the  hireling  Hessian  band,  and  veterans 

of  the  Crown, 
Shall  sweep  the  keenest  scythe  of  war  to  mow  the 

rebels  down. 
Say,  when  their  demon  shout  of  joy  reverberates 

the  hill, 
Will  ye,  with  hearts  of  oak,  support  and  trust  your 

leader  still?" 

A  solemn   hush,  then   from   the  line   went  up  a 

thunder  peal, 
It  rolled   across  the  meadows,  pierced   Flatbush 

wooded  height, 
And    Percy  heard  the  echo   deep   that  glorious, 

August  night : 
"Will  ye,  with  hearts  of  oak,  support  and  trust 

your  leader  still?" 
'Twas  Washington  who  breathed    the   words, — 

'twas  freemen  said,  "  We  will  !" 
*  *  *  *  #  *  x 

'9 


'/6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  din  of  contest  ceased, — the  moon  was  in  an 

August  sky, — 
And  Washington    beheld   with    grief  his    heroes 

round  him  lie, 
Woodhull  and  Stanley,  captives  now,  and  Sullivan 

the  strong, 
Long  Island  saw  them  true  to  right,  will  Heaven 

avenge  the  wrong  ? 
Two    thousand    wounded,    prisoners,    slain,    their 

words  were  with  him  still, 
And  yet  like  music  to  his  soul  came  that  stern  vow, 

"We  will  !" 

"  We  must  retreat,  the  panting  hare  must  lead  the 

hound  astray, 

The  lion  couches  in  his  lair,  we  cheat  him  of  his  prey  ; 
We  must  retreat,  a  lessened  band,  in  silence  and 

in  tears, 

This  grassy  shore,  Sahara-like,  to  my  dim  eye  ap 
pears  ; 
The  field- flower  blushes  with  our  blood,  its  native 

modest  blue, 
Which  spoke  of  peace  and  safety  once,  now  hides 

itself  from  view  ; 
And  sleeping  by  these  rifted  pines,  and  through 

those  meadows  wide, 
Are  truest,  bravest,  kindest  men,  my  treasure  and 

my  pride. 
They  fell  amid  a  burst  of  blaze,  their  faces  to  the  foe, 

20 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Compeers  of  Greeks  at  Marathon,   in  ages  long 

ago, 
And  as  long  as  Memory  holds  her  sway,  'till  Death 

this  heart  shall  still, 
Will  come  to  cheer  me,  and  to  bless,  their  Spartan 

shout, — "  We  will  !" 


MARQUIS    DE   LA   FAYETTE. 

This  young  French  nobleman  presented  himself  to  Dr. 
Franklin,  and  afterwards  to  the  other  commissioners,  and 
offered  his  services  as  a  volunteer.  "We  cannot,"  said 
they,  "  in  conscience  urge  you  to  proceed.  We  possess 
not  the  means  nor  the  credit  for  procuring  a  vessel  for 
your  passage."  "Then,"  exclaimed  the  gallant  youth, 
"  I  will  provide  my  own." — Frost's  History,  page  230. 

THY  vineyards,  oh  !  my  sunny  land,  are  beautiful 

to  see, 
Thy  noble   Seine  rolls  on  in  pride,  with    waters 

glad  and  free, 
But  far  across  the  ocean's  breast  I  hear  the  notes 

of  woe, 
And  a  voice  sinks  deep  within  my  heart,  whose 

burden  still  is,  "  Go  !" 
Beside  thee,  oh  !  my  cherished  one,  at  eventide  I 

stand, 
And  kiss  thy  ruby  lips  in  love,  and  clasp  thy  lily 

hand, 

21 


*7<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

But  through  my  veins,  like  lava-tide,  what  stronger 

currents  flow, 

For  e'en  affection's  plea  is  dumb  before  that  man 
date,  "Go!" 
Across  the  waves  a  blade  of  steel  fair  Freedom 

holds  to  me, 

Its  temper' d  edge  at  feast,  and  court,  and  hearth 
stone  bright  I  see  ; 
That  blade  my  hand  is  pledged  to  wield,  that  tem- 

per'd  edge  to  prove, 
To    Washington    and    Liberty    I    consecrate    my 

love. 
Here,  in  the  flush  of  opening  life,  from  rank  and 

ease  I  haste 
The  soldier's  rugged  toil  to  share, — the  soldier's 

meal  to  taste. 
The  camp-fire  and  the  bivouac,  the  muster  and  the 

march  ; 
The  bugle-blast,  the  battle-shock,  beneath  heaven's 

shrouded  arch  ; 
Be  these  my  future  scenes,  be  this  the  warp  and 

woof  of  life. 
A  brother  to  the  poor  oppressed,  I  join  them  in 

the  strife, 
I  claim  with  them  alliance,  I  hail  them  kith  and 

kin  ; 
I  bind  their  bleeding  hearts  to  mine,  to  suffer  or  to 

win. 


'  76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

A  ship  is  out  upon  the  deep  ;  beneath  its  canvas 

fold 
There  muses  one,  how  young  in  years,  in  stern 

resolve  how  old  ! 
Still  to  the  western  shore  he  turns,  oh  !  land  him 

safely  there, 

And  consummate  his  fondest  wish,  fulfil  his  dear 
est  prayer. 
O    Ocean,   chain    thy  tempest  now,   restrain  thy 

sterner  mood, 
And  bid  thy  softest  breezes  waft  the  beautiful,  the 

good  ; 
For  never  to  thy  charge  was  given  a  brighter  gem 

than  he, 
Who  rends  the  strongest  ties    of  love   to   battle 

with  the  free. 

*  #  *  #  #  *  * 

A  bright   September   day  beheld  a  contest  long 

and  stern, 
The  youthful  nobleman  was  there,  his  battle-task 

to  learn  ; 
And  'mid  the  iron  hail  he  stood  and  cheered  his 

fainting  men, 
Inspired  with  hope  the  faltering  ranks  and  rallied 

them  again  ; 
A  wound  he  bears,  but,  heedless  all,   he  presses 

onward  yet, 
And  Freedom  here  accepts  thy  blood,  thou  gallant 

Lafayette  ; 

23 


'/^5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Around  thy  brow  unfading'  wreaths  America  shall 

twine, 
And  think  of  thee  with  throbbing  heart,  of  thee 

and  Brandywine. 


STARK,   OF  BENNINGTON. 

The  Americans  took  four  brass  field-pieces,  one  thou 
sand  muskets,  nine  hundred  swords,  and  four  baggage- 
wagons,  a  very  seasonable  supply.— Frost's  History. 

PUSH  on  the  column,   Colonel   Baum,  with  wary 

step  and  sure, 
Push  on  the  column,  Colonel  Baum,  with  Indian 

scouts  before, 
And  show  your  German  blood  to-day,  and  let  the 

war-whoop  tell 
That  savage  bands  with    tomahawks  can  do  my 

bidding  well  ; 
The    flour   and    corn    of  Bennington,    so   snugly 

packed  away, 
Shall  have  Burgoyne  for  owner  before  the  close  of 

day. 

With  stealthy  tread,  a  hundred  strong,  the  feath 
ered  Indians  go, 

And  Baum,  with  half  a  thousand,  brings  up  the 
rear  as  slow ; 

24 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

With  wain,  and  black-mouthed  cannon,  and  ensign 

in  the  breeze, 
They  come,  ye  brave  Green  Mountain  boys,  your 

garnered  hoard  to  seize. 

But  Starke  had  heard  about  you,  Baum,  and  the 

patriot  sternly  said, 
That  rebel  corn  and  flour  will  make  a  stony  kind 

of  bread  ; 
Yes,  Starke  has  got  the  warning,  and  if  you  still 

persist, 
An  iron  mill  will  do  the  ^'ork,  and  you  shall  be  the 

grist. 
That  corn  and  flour  are  dear  to  him  as  silver  from 

the  mine, 
And,  oh  !  Burgoyne,   keep  cool  to-day,  it  never 

shall  be  thine. 

Throw  up   your  breastwork,  Colonel  Baum,   and 
give  your  cannon  play, 

For  Freedom's  rusty  firelocks  will  match  you  well 
to-day  ; 

New  Hampshire's  plain  militia  and  Warner's  regi 
ment, 

When    fighting  for    "the  children's  bread,"    will 
surely  not  relent  ; 

Throw  up  your  breastwork,  Colonel  Baum,  for  it 
will  be  your  last, 

As  came  upon  Assyrian  host  that  mystic  angel- 
blast  ; 

2$ 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

So  on  thy  forces,  and  on  thee,  the  whirlwind  shall 

descend, 
And  here  upon  the  rebel  soil  thy  brief  career  must 

end. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

They    count   the   spoils  of  victory    with    bosoms 

beating  strong, 
And  every  brazen  field-piece  is  honored  with   a 

song  ; 
Around  the  swords  and  muskets,  like  joyous  boys 

they  press, 

Theirs  is  an  El  Dorado  mine  of  hope  and  happi 
ness. 
And  while  the  captured  foe  look  on,  with  sad  and 

altered  mien, 
They  pipe  a  gleesome  roundelay  upon  the  trodden 

green  ; 
Like  maiden  at  the  placid  brook,  which  mirrors  all 

her  charms, 
They  thrill  with  exultation  at  the  noble  stand  of 

arms, 
And  cheer  the  gallant  chieftain  who  led  their  forces 

on, 
And  canonized  the  very  dust  of  good  old  Ben- 

nington, 
Who  proved  to  British  veterans  the  rusty  firelocks' 

power, 
And  kept  within  his  lion  gripe  his  country^  s  corn 

and  flour. 

26 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


VALLEY  FORGE. 

Their  line  of  march  from  White  Marsh  to  Valley  Forge 
might  have  been  traced  by  the  blood  from  the  bare  and 
mangled  feet  of  the  soldiers. — Frost's  History. 

OUR  path  is  traced  by  a  crimson  stain, 
We  leave  our  mark  on  the  snow-clad  plain, 
As  onward  to  Valley  Forge  we  press, 
Where  all  will  be  bleak  and  verdureless. 

Our  wives  are  sighing  by  hearthstones  drear, 
Our  babes  are  sobbing  and  we  not  near, 
The  tempest  raves  through  the  rifted  wood, 
And  Grief  keeps  time  in  her  wildest  mood. 

We  go  with  the  axe  our  huts  to  raise, 
And  then  to  creep  to  the  camp-fire's  blaze, 
And  talk,  as  our  heartstrings  closer  twine, 
Of  comrades  we  lost  at  Brandywine. 

We  will  know  what  Famine  means,  and  wish 
For  the  nook  of  home  and  the  smoking  dish  ; 
And  our  aching  limbs,  as  they  shrink  with  cold, 
Will  feel  how  scant  is  the  garment's  fold. 

Our  path  is  traced  by  a  ruddy  dye, 
But  we  turn  our  thoughts  to  the  distant  sky, 
And  the  snow-clad  plain  seems  a  vernal  sod, 
When  we  feel  our  cause  is  the  cause  of  God. 

27 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  foe  will  lodge  in  the  city  gay, 
And  Howe  and  his  troops  keep  cares  away. 
And  the  feast  and  the  dance  will  loudly  tell 
How  St.  George's  sons  hold  carnival. 

But  we  in  the  rude-built  huts  will  wait 
For  a  brighter  day  and  a  nobler  fate  ; 
And,  as  clings  to  the  sire  the  trusting  son, 
We  will  nestle  close  to  our  Washington. 

Our  path  is  traced  by  a  crimson  stain, 
Our  blood  pours  out  like  the  April  rain, 
But  a  Spartan  heart  and  an  iron  will 
Shall  be  the  portion  of  freemen  still. 

Then,  brothers,  on  to  the  forest  wild, 
Let  the  axes  ring, — be  the  timber  piled,— 
The  cheek  of  the  Briton  will  burn  with  shame 
When  Valley  Forge  has  a  deathless  name. 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

WASHINGTON    CROSSING    THE    DELA 
WARE. 

( )n  the  evening  of  the  25th  of  December  he  crossed 
the  Delaware,  marched  all  night,  attacked  the  Hessians, 
who  had  not  the  slightest  intelligence  of  his  approach, 
and  routed  them  with  great  slaughter.  Colonel  Rahl 
could  not  resist  the  impetuous  attack,  directed,  as  it  was, 
by  Washington  in  person.  And  while  one  thousand  of 
their  best  troops  remained  prisoners  of  war,  Washing 
ton  recrossed  to  his  camp,  with  the  loss  of  but  nine  of 
his  men. — Frost' 's  History. 

No  sleep  to-night,  for  through  the  ice 

The  boats  must  push  their  way, 
And,  landing  on  the  farther  shore, 

Our  black-mouthed  cannon  play. 

The  snow  and  sleet,  to  beating  hearts, 

Bring  nought  of  grief  or  gloom  ; 
Hope's  heaven-born  flower,  on  Christmas-eve, 

Shall  burst  in  vernal  bloom. 

With  forces  spread,  they  sleep  secure, 

While  we  are  drifting  nigh. 
Ah  !  how  our  victor  shout  will  peal 

Beneath  the  wintry  sky  ! 

No  sleep  to-night  ;  an  icy  path 

Conducts  us  to  the  foe  ; 
And  Rahl,  let  once  the  morning  break, 

The  rebels'  might  shall  know. 
29 


'?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Silent  as  shadows  o'er  the  lea, 

Stern  as  an  Alpine  hill, 
Banded  as  Macedonian  force, 

Calm  as  the  noiseless  rill ; 

Thus  pass  we,  in  the  hush  of  night, 
Each  nerve  all  braced  and  strong  ; 

And,  with  a  whirlwind's  stunning  blow, 
Retrieve  our  country's  wrong. 

Look  up  !     Above  the  frozen  stream 

The  sentinels  of  heaven  — 
The  pure,  serene,  and  holy  stars — 

Keep  watch  and  ward  at  even. 

And  thus  the  tranquil  light  of  Trust 
No  chilling  doubt  may  hide  ; 

Like  pencilled  ray  from  upper  dome, 
It  travels  by  our  side. 

Defeat  but  rallies  to  our  aid 

The  noble  and  the  true  ; 
Defeat  the  hero's  heart  has  made 

But  thrill  with  hope  anew. 

No  sleep  to-night  !     Our  Christmas-eve, 
'Mid  cold,  is  bravely  passed. 

Wait  but  the  first  gray  streak  of  dawn, 
And  then  the  bugle-blast 
3° 


'7^  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Upon  the  Hessians'  startled  host 
Will  break,  with  wizard  spell, 

And  we,  with  guarded  captive-train, 
Hold  joyous  festival. 


THE   OMEN   AT   PRINCETON. 

The  frame  in  which  the  portrait  of  King  George  was 
suspended  was  subsequently  honored  with  the  likeness 
of  Washington.  The  canvas  on  which  the  features  of 
royalty  were  depicted  was  shot  away  by  a  cannon-ball  at 
the  battle  of  Princeton. 

ROUND  the  College  blazed  the  cannon, 

And  the  portals,  like  a  leaf, 
Quivered  at  the  thundering  volley, 

Ordered  by  the  rebel  chief; 
High  above  the  tide  of  battle, 

Surging  as  a  lava  wave, 
Floated  Freedom's  glorious  pennon, 

Borne  aloft  by  spirits  brave. 

Wheel  the  ordnance  to  the  centre 

(Thus  the  voice  its  burden  sent), 
Sweep  the  door  so  barricaded, 

Give  the  foe  stern  punishment ; 
Enfilade  the  hall  of  science, 

Storm  them  in  their  fine  retreat  ; 
Death,  amid  the  field  of  letters, 

May  pour  lustre  on  defeat. 
3' 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Flew  the  balls  where  sons  of  Wisdom 

Peacefully  their  classic  lore 
Oft  had  conned,  and  inly  pondered, 

Thus  augmenting  learning's  store. 
Mars  had  now  displaced  Minerva, 

And  his  brazen  corselet  rang, 
And  his  bow-string,  old  and  trusty, 

Gave  its  own  sonorous  twang. 

In  a  recess  hung  a  portrait, 

Picturing  King  George's  face, 
And  its  brow  was  peering  proudly 

Now  within  that  leaguered  place  ; 
But  a  ball  came  whizzing  sternly, 

Like  a  tongue  of  Etna  flame, 
And,  as  if  by  Heaven  directed, 

Cut  the  canvas  from  the  frame. 

There  the  gilded  wood  was  hanging, 

Like  a  poor,  deserted  throne, 
From  whose  seat  a  king  departing 

Left  its  tinsel  gauds  alone. 
Swift,  almost,  as  flash  in  summer, 

Swift  as  bird  upon  the  wing, 
All  the  labor  of  the  artist, 

Like  a  flake,  was  vanishing. 

What  an  omen,  sure  and  precious  ! 

What  a  lesson,  taught  of  God  ! 

32 


'?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Royalty  was  soon  to  perish, — 
Perish  at  the  people's  nod. 

Soon  did  Freedom,  blest  protector, 
She  whom  despots  could  not  tame, 

Sunder  all  our  country's  fetters, 
Cut  like  canvas  from  the  frame. 


SURRENDER   OF   BURGOYNE. 

A  MORNING  in  October  ;   the  forest-leaves  were 

brown  ; 
The  trees  their  leafy  honors  were  showering  freely 

down, 
The  river  danced,  as  sunlight  came  trembling  to 

its  breast, 

And  autumn  in  its  garniture  was  beautifully  drest. 
Out  of  their  camp  an  army  marched,  with  solemn 

tread  and  slow  ; 
The  trumpeters  were  silent  now,  no  note  had  they 

to  blow  ; 
St.  George's  banner  drooped  in  dust  as  'twould 

not  rise  again, 
And  England's  chivalry  was  dim  on  Saratoga's 

plain. 

A  morning  in  October  ;  the  sky  was  all  aglow, 
And  so  was  Gates,  the  rebel  chief,  with  rapture's 
overflow. 
3  33 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Rcvohition 

To  Canada  Burgoyne  the  bold  can  never  force  his 
way, 

And  now  his  stern  six  thousand  are  doomed  to 
yield  the  day. 

Sir  Henry  Clinton  hastens  not  with  reinforce 
ment  strong  ; 

For  up  the  Hudson,  with  his  troops,  his  ships  are 
borne  along. 

St.  George's  banner  droops  in  dust,  as  'twould 
not  rise  again, 

And  England's  chivalry  is  dim  on  Saratoga's 
plain. 

A  morning  in  October  ;  ho  !  Gates,  thou  art  master 

here  ! 
Thy  mandate  ringeth  potently  upon  the  foeman's 

ear. 
See   how,  upon   the   river's  verge,  their  shining 

arms  they  pile, 
While  Nature  seems  to  give  thee  congratulation's 

smile. 
How  Washington  will  triumph,  when  to  his  ear 

has  sped 
The  news,  which  soon  its  rapture  within  his  heart 

shall  shed  ; 

The  news  which  proves  that  royal  pride  is  van 
quished  now  and  slain  ; 
That   England's   chivalry  is   dim   on    Saratoga's 

plain. 

34 


'/^5  Lyrics  of  tJie  Rcvohttion 

When  from  Ticonderoga  thy  forces  marched  in 
glee, 

Ah,  didst  thou  think,  Burgoyne  the  bold,  defeat 
awaited  thee  ? 

When  to  Fort  Edward  fled  in  haste  our  panic- 
stricken  band, 

Say,  didst  thou  not  toward  them  point  thy  own 
deriding  hand  ? 

But  Fate  has  turned  the  fickle  tide,  and  now  our 
eagle's  eye 

Drinks  in,  unchecked,  the  splendors  of  a  pro 
pitious  sky. 

Well  may  thy  gorgeous  banner  droop  as  'twould 
not  rise  again, 

For  England's  chivalry  is  dim  on  Saratoga's 
plain . 

Six  thousand  strong, — six  thousand  strong, — ah  ! 
ye  are  now  but  weak  ; 

No  flush  comes  o'er  your  face  to-day,  your  bold 
success  to  speak. 

Pile  up  the  arms  ;  ye  fight  no  more  ;  the  God  of 
hosts  decrees 

That  all  your  power  shall  shake  and  fall,  like 
autumn  leaves  from  trees. 

Learn,  learn  the  truth, — that  Freedom's  cause  is 
still  the  cause  of  Heaven  ; 

Know,  for  a  surety,  all  our  chains,  though  mas 
sive,  shall  be  riven. 
3S 


'/tf  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Go  back  to  royalty,  Burgoyne,  nor  be  thy  mes 
sage  vain, 

And  may  thy  sovereign  wisdom  learn  from  Sara 
toga's  plain. 


RETREAT    FROM    BARREN    HILL. 

A  MORN  in  May,  and  Howe  and  Grant  held  con 
verse  deep  and  low, 

Concerting  how  they  might  dislodge  their  strongly 
posted  foe  ; 

East  of  the  Schuylkill's  stream,  they  knew,  the 
firm  intrenchment  lay, 

Where  Lafayette,  the  chieftain,  stood,  in  all  his 
bright  array. 

And  thus  Lord  Howe  began,  in  tones  as  measured 
and  as  stern 

As  ever  mark  the  lion-hearts  on  battle-fields  who 
learn  : 

"The  boy  of  France   has   arrogance  within   his 

panting  breast, 
Since  in  the  rebel  cause  his  king  companionship 

experts, 
As  if  the  Bourbon,  by  his  pen,  proclaiming  traitors 

free, 

36 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Could  snatch  a  falling  land  from  what  must  be  its 

destiny ; 
As    if    the    Fleur-de-lis  had  strength    within    our 

breath  to  thrive, 
And  by  its  blooming  petals  could  a  scentless  shrub 

revive. 
In  commerce  and   alliance   an   ancient   Christian 

crown, 
Forgetful   of  its   dignity,   has   stooped   to   rebels 

down  ; 
And  joy  was  in  that  rebel  camp,  and  salvos  shook 

the  ground, 
And  eloquence  proclaimed  the  news  with  syllables 

profound. 
Why,  Grant,  it  stings  me  to  the  quick  to  see  the 

dastard  brood 
Thus  revelling   like   buccaneers  within    the  wild 

greenwood, 

As  if  the  Lion's  crest  had  fallen,  as  if  our  sinewy  arm 
Was  by  a  treaty  paralyzed  and  robbed  of  vigor 

warm . 
Go,  Grant,  and  take  thy  chosen  force,  and  march 

to  Barren  HilJ, 
And  let  the  cannon  tell  the  tale  that  Britons  we 

are  still ; 
Surprise  the  boy  of  France  at  once,  and  by  thy 

victor  word 
Strip  from  him  all  his   chosen  host  as    plumage 

from  the  bird  ; 

37 


s  76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Silence  the  battery, — shall  he  dare  to  post  himself 

so  high, 
While  quartered  yet  in  Valley  Forge  the  menial 

forces  lie  ? 
Forward  !  your  very  chargers  prance,  and  this  be 

stilt  your  tone,— 
'  Down  with    the   rebel  foe  and   France  !     Saint 

George  and  Albion  !'  ' 

Militia  on  the  lookout  !  deserted  is  your  post ; 
Grant  will  effect  his  purpose,   and   Lafayette  be 

lost. 
Militia   on    the   lookout  !    how  faithless   to   your 

trust  ! 
Your  country's  banner-fold,  to-day,  through  you 

may  trail  in  dust. 
Down  on  your  forces,  like  a  hawk,  he  makes  a 

circling  sweep, — 
He,  Grant  the  Briton,  who  your  cause  in  infamy 

would  steep. 
Ah  !  Lafayette,  'twill  tax  your  skill  to  draw  your 

forces  off; 
Mature  your  measures    quickly   now,    or  be  the 

foeman's  scoff; 

In  fertile  policy  to-day  be  all  thy  wisdom  shown, 
And  tho'  a  boy  in  years,  thou  shalt  in  acts  a  man 

be  known. 
Draw  off  thy  forces  to  the  camp,  and  never  lose  a 

man  ; 

38 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Stamp  conquest  even  on  retreat,  and  march  with 

rear  and  van  ; 
Elude  the  snare  with  wary  heart,  and  when  the 

net  is  thrown, 
Theirs  be  the  blank  astonishment  to  find  the  prey 

is  gone. 

#  #  #  #  #  *  "* 

Joy  in  the  camp  at  Valley  Forge, — two  thousand 

chosen  men 
Are  piping  out  the  roundelay,  like  maidens  in  a 

glen; 
And  Barren  Hill  becomes  a  name  potential  in  its 

spell  ; 
For  there   the  gallant    Lafayette    performed    the 

hero  well, 
And  Grant  went  back  to   Howe  chagrined,  with 

drooping  rear  and  van, 
To  whimper  how,  at  Barren  Hill,  the  boy  had  foiled 

the  man. 


THE  VICTORY  AT  MONMOUTH. 

"  HOLD  them  in  check, — that  British  host, 

Till  I  bring  up  the  van  ; 
And,  Lee,  whatever  be  the  cost, 

Be  sure  to  play  the  man. 
39 


'/^>  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Clinton  at  Monmouth  halts  to-day, 

All  waiting  for  our  blow, 
And  what  will  Howe,  his  chieftain,  say 

Upon  his  overthrow  ? 
Remember  Valley  Forge,  and  stir 

Thy  every  pulse  to  life  ; 
Remember  Valley  Forge,  nor  err, 

When  once  begins  the  strife. 
Decision,  prudence,  zeal,  be  thine, 

A  will  of  iron  power  ; 
Each  element  of  force  combine, 

And  grasp  the  favoring  hour. 
I  lean  on  thee  :  my  bursting  heart 

Has  had  its  days  of  gloom  ; 
But  still  I  hoped  a  rill  would  start,— 

A  flower  in  sunlight  bloom. 
Hold  them  in  check,  that  British  host, 

Till  I  bring  up  the  van  ; 
And,  Lee,  whatever  be  the  cost, 

Be  sure  to  play  the  man." 

Time  sped,  and  Washington  advanced 

To  grapple  with  the  strong, 
His  warrior  spirit  all  entranced 

With  notes  of  victor-song, — 
When  on,  in  full  retreat,  came  Lee, 

With  charger  wet  with  foam. 
Why  did  his  reinforcement  flee? 

Why  did  he  not  strike  home  ? 
40 


'/tf  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

"  Go  back,  oh,  recreant,  turn  the  tide, 

Ere  we  be  swept  away  ; 
Go  back,  nor  let  my  soul  deride 

To  see  the  great  decay." 

Stung-  to  the  quick,  he  spurred  his  steed, 

And  brought  his  troops  to  bear. 
Alas  !  the  tempest-shaken  reed 

Defeat  again  must  share  ; 
Thus  driven  back  afresh,  there  came 

That  thunderbolt  of  war, 
And  Washington,  like  Etna  flame, 

Became  the  guiding  star. 
Give  way  ! — his  cannons  blaze  in  might  ; 

Give  way  ! — his  sword  is  strong  ; 
Or  ere  the  shades  of  coming  night 

Will  be  avenged  the  wrong. 
To  Sandy  Hook,  that  night,  withdrew 

The  shattered  British  host. 
Clinton  the  rebels'  courage  knew, 

And  Monmouth  was  our  boast. 


Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


MIDDLEBROOK. 

In  the  autumn  succeeding  the  battle  of  Monmouth, 
Washington  took  up  his  winter  quarters  in  huts  which 
he  had  caused  to  be  constructed  at  Middlebrook,  in 
New  Jersey. 

THE  lowly  huts  of  Middlebrook, 

Which  sheltered  from  the  storm 
Those  who  from  God  their  lesson  took, 

Nor  bowed  to  human  form,— 
What  glory  gathers  round  the  spot, 

Like  aureola  gleam  ! 
And  passing  time  eclipses  not 

Of  light  that  radiant  stream. 

The  crowded  huts  of  Middlebrook  ! 

Our  Roman  sires  were  there, 
Who  on  the  future  dared  to  look, 

And  knew  not  to  despair. 
'Mid  autumn's  foliage  sere  and  dead, 

'Mid  winter's  snow  and  blast, 
Hope,  like  the  Eastern  palm-tree,  spread, 

And  flourished  to  the  last. 

Sequestered  huts  of  Middlebrook  ! 

The  nation's  heart  beat  high, 
When  Clinton  fled  to  Sandy  Hook, 

And  "  Monmouth  !"  was  our  cry. 
42 


*?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  they  who  played  the  hero  then 

Have  passed  to  dust  away, 
And  the  log-built  homes  of  truest  men 

Have  yielded  to  decay. 


But  hopes  that  rose  at  Middlebrook, 

And  stern  resolves,  that  there 
Once  murmured  in  a  lowly  nook, 

Are  passing  everywhere  ; 
They  speed  around  the  earth,  and  shake 

The  crumbling  thrones  of  kings  ; 
And  despots  start,  to  cringe  and  quake, 

And  feel  like  guilty  things. 

Oh  !  sainted  hearts  at  Middlebrook, 

Your  mission  was  sublime  ; 
The  cause  you  never  once  forsook 

Is  bounded  by  no  clime. 
That  cause, — the  cause  of  truth  and  right, 

Omnipotent  as  God, 
Is  destined  to  go  forth  and  smite 

With  more  than  Aaron's  rod. 


Thrice  holy  spot  of  Middlebrook  ! 

A  Mecca  to  the  heart, 
As  on  thy  lowly  huts  we  look, 

A  Delphian  shrine  thou  art, 
43 


'j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  in  the  camp-fire's  ruddy  gleam, 

Which  fancy  lights  anew, 
There  bursts  a  holier,  heavenlier  beam 

Than  e'er  Prometheus  drew. 

The  lowly  huts  of  Middlebrook  ! 

Our  fathers  rested  there  ; 
And  green  forever  be  the  nook, 

And  pure  that  Jersey  air  ; 
And  may  the  pillar  and  the  cloud 

That  went  before  their  host 
Still  rear  its  canopy  of  flame, 

Nor  by  their  sons  be  lost. 


WYOMING. 

Wyoming,  in  Pennsylvania,  was  a  flourishing  settle 
ment,  containing  about  one  thousand  inhabitants.  The 
Tories  of  the  neighborhood,  uniting  with  the  hostile  In 
dians,  in  the  summer  of  1778,  massacred  a  large  number 
and  laid  waste  the  country.  This  atrocity  gave  a  sterner 
aspect  to  the  subsequent  character  of  the  war. — Frost's 
History,  page  254. 

A  DEMON  yell,   the  flash  of  steel,   and  massacre 

complete  ; 
All  hope  shut  out,  one  rayless  void,  no  refuge,  no 

retreat ; 

44 


'7 ^  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  matron  at  her  peaceful  hearth,  the   maiden 

'mid  her  glee, 
The   yeoman  at  his    noonday  meal    beneath    the 

homestead  tree, 
The  grandame  by  whose  side  in  joy  her  daughter's 

children  played, 
And   nosegays   from   the   perfumed  flowers  with 

agile  fingers  made  ; — 
All  sunk  in  death  when  treachery  performed  its 

function  base, 
And  the  plumed  savage  swept  in  wrath  through 

Nature's  loveliest  place. 

Wyoming  vale  !  how  beautiful  upon  that  summer 

morn, 
Ere  rapine's  cry  upon    the   gale  so  terribly  was 

borne, 
Ere  Tories  urged  a  fiendish  tribe  to  mar  the  quiet 

scene, 
Where  Peace  on  conscious  Innocence  all  trustingly 

could  lean  ! 
Wyoming  vale  !  how  beautiful,  till  serpents  trail' d 

along, 
And  brothers  of  a  common  blood  concerted  cruel 

wrong  ; 
Till  Loyalists  with  double  heart  could  stimulate  a 

foe, 

Who,  once  in  carnage  but  embarked,  no  mild  re 
lenting  know  ! 

45 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

From  farm  to  farm  the  tidings  spread,  and  terror- 
stricken  men 

Rush  forth  in  haste,  to  never  see  the  lowly  hearth 
again, 

With  food  and  raiment  left  untouched,  and  money's 
garnered  store, 

The  surging  flame  behind,  alas !  and  stern,  stern 
want  before. 

Base,  base  the  hearts  that  plotted  deep  !  Can  Sus- 
quehanna's  flood 

Wash  out  from  candid  page  of  truth  that  chron 
icle  of  blood  ? 

No  ! — treachery  so  marked  as  this,  on  iron  tablet 
traced, 

Can  never,  by  the  lapse  of  time,  be  softened  or 
effaced. 

Advance,  ye  Continental  troops  !  drive  off  the 
savage  foe, 

And  bid  Wyoming's  vale  again  its  cultured  beauty 
show. 

Hide,  hide  yourselves,  ye  Tory  band  ;  revenge  no 
longer  sleeps, 

And  Justice  puts  the  helmet  on  when  suffering 
Goodness  weeps  ; 

In  sternest  fray  the  thought  will  come  how  inno 
cence  has  bled  ; 

How  through  the  air  to  lowly  hearts  the  barbed 
arrows  sped. 

46 


J?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Then  !  then  !  ye  Continental  troops,  with  British 

foe  in  sight, 
Recall  Wyoming's  peaceful  vale  and  all  the  past 

requite. 


PUTNAM'S   LEAP. 

PUT  rowels  to  thy  steed,  and  sweep 
The  hundred  steps  of  stone, 

And  Fame  shall  canonize  thy  leap, 
And  make  thy  deed  our  own. 

Thy  outpost  has  been  visited, 

Thy  men  are  few  but  tried, 
And  if  to  field  of  action  led, 

Would  be  their  leader's  pride. 

Tryon  approaches — foot  and  horse  ! 

Now  plant  the  cannon  high  ! 
And  bid  the  hail,  with  whirlwind  force, 

From  each  old  field-piece  fly. 

Retard  their  progress, — bid  thy  men 
To  yonder  swamp  withdraw  ; 

Put  rowels  to  thy  steed — and  then, 
Escape  the  vulture's  maw. 

47 


'j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  precipice  is  near  the  church, 
With  hundred  steps  of  stone, — 

Leave  Tryon  gaping  in  the  lurch, 
To  find  the  bird  has  flown. 

One  plunge — and  he  has  cleared  the  steep, 

While  British  bullets  shower. 
Ah,  Albion's  cavalry  !  that  leap 

Has  far  eclipsed  your  power. 

Onward,  ye  brave  dragoons  !  pursue  ! 

Let  not  the  steep  appall ; 
One  rebel  in  his  Buff  and  Blue 

Must  not  outstrip  you  all. 

What  !  fifteen  hundred  foiled  by  one, 

Who  scours  the  plain  below  ? 
On,  Tryon  !  face  the  risk  he  run, 

Or  laurel- wreath  forego. 

To  Stamford  hastens  Putnam  now 

His  band  to  reinforce, 
And  with  cool  nerve  and  honest  brow 

Starts  fresh  upon  the  course. 

He  faces  quick  about, — pursues 

Tryon' s  returning  host, 
Happy,  when  he  the  day  reviews, 

To  count  no  moment  lost. 
48 


'?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Intrepid  spirit  !  how  sublime 
Thy  thrice  adventurous  deed  ! 

And  yet  shall  live  through  coming  time 
The  rider  and  his  steed  ! 


STONY  POINT. 

On  the  i sth  of  July,  1779,  Washington  despatched 
General  Wayne  to  Stony  Point  to  dislodge  the  British 
garrison.  The  fort  was  carried  by  storm,  five  hundred 
and  forty-eight  being  taken  prisoners  and  sixty-three 
killed,  while  the  ordnance,  standard,  and  military  stores 
fell  into  the  possession  of  the  conquerors.  —Frost's  His 
tory,  page  258. 

OF  all  the  brave  heroes  who  figured  in  arms, 
In  garrison  warfare  or  fray  on  the  plain, 

Whose  steel  of  pure  azure  was  circled  with  charms, 
Who,  who  could  compete  with  mad  Anthony 
Wayne  ? 

He  rushed  10  the  charge  like  a  bird  on  the  wing, 
As  sweeps  the  Euroclydon  over  the  main, 

And  as  the  clear  sound  of  his  muskets  would  ring, 
His  men  gave  a  cheer  for  old  Anthony  Wayne. 

'Tuas   a   midsummer  day,   and    our  Washington 

said, 
"Yon  Stony  Point  fortress  I  think  we    might 

gain." 
4  49 


J/6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

"  I  will  fight  in  the  sun,  or  if  not,  in  the  shade, 
Hut    take    it    I    must,"    vowed    our    Anthony 
Wayne. 

"  Its  stores  and  its  ordnance  we  must  secure, 
Its  standards  which  wave  from  the  battlement 

tall  ; 
Our  bayonets'  charge  will  be  solid  and  sure, 

Like  bees  we  will  pour  through  the  breach  in 
the  wall. 

"  Six  hundred  are  there  in  a  bulwark  of  pride, 
And  the  juice  of  the  grape  floweth  free  in  their 

bowl, 
And  the  downfall   of  rebels  they  pledge   in    the 

tide, 

By    the    ashes    of    Warren  !     I'll    capture    the 
whole. 

"  Virginia  laments  for  her  Suffolk  in  dust, 
East  Haven  is  gone  by  the  torch  of  the  foe, 

And  Fairfield  and  Norwalk  have  sated  their  lust, 
And  the  sons  of  Connecticut  fall  by  the  blow. 

"  By  those  hearths  which  are  desolate,  mothers  are 

pale, 

And  the  tear-drops  of  beauty  distill  as  the  rain, 
But  the  cry  of  Revenge  !  shall  be  borne  on  the 

gale, 

And  he  who  will  swell  it  is  Anthony  Wayne." 
5° 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

'Twas  musket  to  musket  the  rampart  was  scaled, 
And  men  were  contending  with  sinews  of  steel, 

And  nerves  that  were  strung  for  the  contest  now 

failed, 
While  foemen  at  last  had  to  falter  and  reel. 

Dislodged  was  the  enemy  ;  ordnance  and  store 
Changed  hands  in  the  struggle,  and  fell  to  his 
lot. 

A  wound  from  the  action  the  conqueror  bore, 
But  reckless  was  he  of  the  blade  or  the  shot. 

For  sixty  had  swelled  the  stern  list  of  their  dead, 
And  five  times  an  hundred  were  led  in  his  train. 

O'er  Stony  Point  fortress  a  halo  was  shed,— 
That  halo  was  kindled  by  Anthony  Wayne. 


THE  MUSCOVY  DRAKE. 

Mrs.  Sabina  Elliott,  a  Southern  lady,  having-  beheld 
the  activity  of  an  English  officer  in  plundering  her 
poultry-yard,  and  finding  an  old  Muscovy  drake  which 
had  escaped  the  search,  ordered  her  servant  to  follow  on 
horseback  and  deliver  the  fowl  to  the  officer  with  her 
compliments,  concluding  that  in  his  hurry  he  had  left  it 
by  mistake.  —  (//•////  .sV/^rt-'.v  History,  page  179. 


Ill-:  ranged  with  glee  among  chickens  and  geese, 
For  their  rebel  owner  he  longed  to  fleece, 
Though  she  was  a  Southern  fair  ; 
5' 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

Her  raven  curls  and  her  hazel  eye 
Had  failed  to  arouse  his  chivalry, 
So  the  poultry-house  was  bare. 

She  could  not  censure  the  gallant  act, 
For  the  towns  of  rebels  were  often  sacked, 

And  rebel  hen-coops  too  ; 
And  to  make  the  feathery  legion  tramp, 
Like  trembling  prisoners  from  their  camp, 

Would  his  martial  zeal  renew. 

A  dainty  stomach  the  soldier  had, 

And  a  piece  of  the  breast  would  not  taste  bad 

With  a  little  generous  Hock  ; 
The  leg  of  the  goose  and  the  turkey-wing, 
With  some  onion-sauce,  would  be  just  the  thing, 

Epicurus  would  own  the  stock. 

Saint  George's  men  never  stooped  to  care  ; 
Some  quarter  was  bound  to  supply  the  fare, 

And  that  of  the  choicest  brand  ; 
They  drove  off  cows  and  they  captured  sheep, 
And  among  the  poultry  how  clean  a  sweep 

They  made  with  an  outstretched  hand  ! 

But,  officer  bold,  you  were  not  awake 
When  you  slighted  that  old  Muscovy  drake, 

And  paid  no  respect  to  age. 

Did  you  think  for  carving  'twould  be  too  tough  ? 
Your  sword-blade  is  certainly  keen  enough 

Dissection's  war  to  wage. 
52 


'7^5  Lyrics  of  tJic  Revolution 

Ah  !  Mistress  Sabina  Elliott 

"  A  rod  in  pickle"  has  surely  got 

For  the  gallant  cavalier. 

"  Haste,  Thomas,  and  saddle  the  horse,"  says  she, 
' '  And  take  the  old  drake  for  company, 

And  straight  for  his  honor  steer." 

Off  galloped  the  steed  with  flowing  mane, 
And  Thomas  was  Gilpin  o'er  again, 

While  scudding  before  the  wind  ; 
He  gained  on  the  man  in  the  red  cloth  gay, 
And  his  Missus  had  taught  him  what  to  say, 

And  'twas  easy  the  words  to  find. 

"  Respects  to  Gineral,  but  by  mistake 
He  left  in  de  rear  de  Muscovy  drake, 

But  carried  away  de  chicken  ; 
My  Missus  desires  her  compliments, 
And  here  I  give  'em  to  all  intents, 

And  success  attend  de  pickin'." 


MARION'S    DINNER. 

A    British   officer,  suit  to  negotiate   an    exchange  of 

prisoners,   was  conducted    into    Marion's   encampment. 

There  the  scene  took  place  which  is  here  commemorated. 

The  young  officer  was  so  deeply  affected  by  the  senti- 

53 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

ments  of  Marion  that  he  subsequently  resigned  his  com 
mission  and  retired  from  the  British  service.  —  Crim- 
shaw's  History,  page  163. 

THEY  sat  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  pine, 

And  their  plate  was  a  piece  of  bark, 
And  the  sweet  potatoes  were  superfine, 

Though  bearing  the  embers'  mark  ; 
But  Tom,  with  the  sleeve  of  his  cotton  shirt, 

The  embers  had  brushed  away, 
And  then  to  the  brook,  with  a  step  alert, 

He  hied  on  that  gala  day. 

The  British  officer  tried  to  eat, 

But  his  nerves  were  out  of  tune, 
And,  ill  at  ease  on  his  novel  seat, 

While  absent  both  knife  and  spoon, 
Said  he  : — "  You  give  me  but  Lenten  fare  ; 

Is  the  table  thus  always  slim  ? 
Perhaps  with  a  Briton  you  will  not  share 

The  cup  with  a  flowing  brim  ?' ' 

Then  Marion  put  his  potato  down 

On  the  homely. plate  of  bark, — 
He  had  to  smile,  for  he  could  not  frown, 

While  gay  as  the  morning  lark, — 
"  'Tis  a  royal  feast  I  provide  to-day ; 

Upon  roots  we  rebels  dine  ; 
And  in  Freedom's  service  we  draw  no  pay  ; 

Is  that  code  of  ethics  thine?" 
54 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  tJic  Revolution 

Then,  with  flashing  eye  and  with  heaving  breast, 

He  looked  to  the  azure  sky, 
And,  said  he,  with  a  firm,  undaunted  crest, 

"  Our  trust  is  in  God  on  high. 
The  hard,  hard  ground  is  a  downy  bed, 

And  hunger  its  fang  foregoes, 
And  noble  and  firm  is  the  soldier's  tread 

In  the  face  of  his  country's  foes." 

The  officer  gazed  on  that  princely  brow, 

Where  valor  and  genius  shone, 
And  upon  that  fallen  pine  his  vow 

Went  up  to  his  Maker's  throne  : 
"  I  will  draw  no  sword  against  men  like  these  ; 

It  would  drop  from  a  nerveless  hand, 
And  the  very  blood  in  my  heart  would  freeze 

If  I  faced  such  a  Spartan  band." 

From  Marion's  camp,  with  a  saddened  mien, 

He  hastened  with  awe  away  ; 
The  sons  of  Anak  his  eyes  had  seen, 

And  a  giant  race  were  they. 
No  more  on  the  tented  field  was  he, 

And  rich  was  the  truth  he  learned, 
That  men  who  could  starve  for  Liberty 

Can  neither  be  crushed  nor  spurned. 


55 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


OLD   CONTINENTAL   PAPER. 

The  paper  currency  issued  by  Congress  first  appeared 
in  the  latter  part  of  1775.  Its  depreciation  was  gradual. 
In  a  few  places  it  continued  to  circulate  for  the  first  four 
months  of  1781.  The  author,  when  a  boy,  used  to  gaze 
with  deep  interest  at  one  of  these  old  notes  in  his  father's 
possession,  and  the  reflections  subjoined  do  but  embody 
his  youthful  emotions  at  the  time. 

TO    THE    MEMORY    OF    RO1JERT    MORRIS,    FINANCIER    OF 
A   STRUGGLING    COUNTRY. 

OLD  Continental  paper  !  the  saffron  hue  of  time 
Has  stolen  o'er  thy  texture,  once  clear  when  in  its 

prime  ; 

The  figures  on  thy  face,   once  fresh,   look  patri 
archal  sadly, 
And  note-engravers  might  impugn  thy  execution 

madly  ; 
But  yellow  and  antique  as  thou  to  other  eyes  may'st 

be, 
Old  Continental  paper  !  thou  hast  mystic  charms 

for  me  : 
I   take  thee  in   my  hand,   and   mark    the  names 

which  gave  thee  worth, 
When  thou,  a  goodly  pioneer,  didst  hail  a  nation's 

birth  ; 
And  that  dear,  old-fashioned  Congress,  a  Spartan 

band,  I  s.ee, 

56 


^6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Declaring,  with  united  breath,  that  God  had  made 

them  free  ; 

The  form  of  Patrick  Henry  looms  up  in  giant  phase, 
And  the  very  smile  of  hope  I  catch  which  o'er 

his  features  plays, 
As,  flinging  upward  to  the   heavens   his   sinewy 

arm,  he  cries, 
"Up,  and  smite  off  your  fetters  !     Rise,  like  the 

ocean,  rise  !" 

Old  Continental  paper  !  thou  pealest  in  my  ear 
The  battle-cry  of  Bunker  Hill  when  scarlet  coats 

drew  near. 
I  view  the  face  of  Warren  in  thy  rough-shaped 

letters,  plain, 
And  as  Freedom's  proto-martyr,  I  note  him  with 

the  slain. 
The  snows  of  Valley  Forge,  anon,  are  crimsoning 

in  my  view, 
Where   blood  had  marked   the  footprints  of  the 

loyal  and  the  true, 
And  the  Leader  rests  his  pensive  brow  upon  his 

hands  at  night, 
For,  through  the  thickening  shadows,  Hope  casts 

but  taper  light. 

Old  Continental  paper  !  the  name  of  Brandywine, 
Of  Monmouth,  and  of  Princeton  too,  are  braided 

into  thine, 
And  Yorktown,   where  the  grounded   arms   and 

folded  banner  said  : 
S7 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

"The  king  that  sought  the  young  child's  life — 

fair  Freedom's  life — is  dead  ! 
Dead  in  his  influence  to  harm,  dead  in  his  potent 

sway, 
Thrice  dead  in  his  design  to  wrench  your  chartered 

rights  away  !" 
Yorktown  !  where  scarlet  coats  defiled  before  the 

Buff  and  Blue 
In  a  silence  to  that  lengthened  line  as  strange  as  it 

was  true  ! 

Old  Continental  paper  !  the  letters  on  thy  face 
Call  from  their  graves  the  Mothers  of  that  more 

than  Spartan  race, — 
Women  who  melted  into  balls  the  good  old  leaden 

sashes, 
And  filled  the  knapsacks  with  the  stuff  to  deal  out 

rebel  gashes  ; 
Women  who  made  the  homespun,  and  put  it  on 

their  sons, 
And  bade  their  husbands  say  farewell  to  wife  and 

little  ones  ; 
Women  who  gave  the  shield  and   said,  not  in  a 

measured  sonnet, 
But  in  stern  Saxon  syllables,  "Come  with  it,  or 

upon  it  !" 
Old  Continental  paper  !  we  have  grown  a  mighty 

size, 
And  we  begin  to  "  calculate''1  that  we  are  rich  and 

wise. 


'/£>  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

Labor  is  at  his  wheel  in  peace,  and  Science  on  her 

chair, 

And  the  flag  which  guards  our  commerce  is  float 
ing  everywhere  ; 
The  golden  harvest  waveth,  and  the  reaper  singeth 

free, 

And  all  these  blessed  issues  we  associate  with  thce. 
Far  to  the  West  there  floweth  a  vast  commingled 

tide, 
As  when  from  Egypt  marched  the  Jews,  unfettered 

and  in  pride  ; 
They  caught  the  guiding  ray  of  hope  when  far 

across  the  main, 
And  can  they  in  their  prison-house  another  hour 

remain  ? 
No  ;  o'er  the  surging  billows  to  the  regions  of  the 

West, 

Where  peace  and  plenty  stretch  their  arms,   be 
guiling  them  to  rest. 
No  ;   gardens  must  be  planted  where   rise   those 

forests  dim  ; 
Their  sounding  aisles   shall   echo  to  childhood's 

freedom  hymn  ; 
These  thronging  bands,  whose  axes'  ring  betokens 

progress  yet, 
Who  in  our  land  the  bitter  ills  of  serfdom's  lot 

forget  ; 
These  moving  myriads  pressing  on  to  mingle  with 

the  free, 

59 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Are  linked  with  thy  old  yellow  page,  oh,  how  un- 

dyingly  ! 
Let   beauteous   issues  of  the  Bank   invite   us   to 

ignore 
The  history  of  that  olden  Note  which  toddled  on 

before, — 
That  olden  Note,  upon  whose  faith    our   fathers 

fought  and  won, 
Bequeathing  better   currency  when  the   toilsome 

work  was  done  ! 
No  graver's  art  can  execute  a  bill  with  half  the 

charm  • 
Which  bids  those  faded  figures  assume  a  mantle 

warm, 
For  all  our  past  achievements  bright,  and  all  we 

hope  to  be, 
Are  of  thyself  a  living  part, — are  warp  and  woof 

with  thee  ! 


FLAMBOROUGH  HEAD. 

On  the  23d  of  September,  1779,  took  place  that  most 
memorable  encounter  between  the  "  Bon  Homme  Rich 
ard,"  under  the  command  of  Paul  Jones,  and  the  British 
frigate  "Serapis,"  of  forty-four  guns.     The  action  took 
60 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

place  off  Fkunborough  Head  ;  the  moon  was  shining  ; 
and  the  action,  which  lasted  four  hours,  was  witnessed 
by  thousands  of  interested  spectators. 

MOONLIGHT  was  on  the  wave  ;  September's  eve 

Was  calm  and  beautiful  ;  the  swell  and  heave 

Of  ocean's  billow  came  upon  the  ear 

Like  music  mellowed  in  an  upper  sphere. 

The  line  of  coast  was  throng' d,   for  hearts  will 

leap 

When  Mars  comes  down  to  reign  upon  the  deep. 
That  thunderbolt  of  war,  intrepid  Paul, 
With  conquest  ever  at  his  \vizard  call, 
In  sight  of  Scotia's  port,  the  town  of  Leith, 
Had  won  in  honest  strife  the  warrior's  wreath. 
The  ' '  Pallas' '  and  the  ' '  Vengeance' '  there  awoke 
Their  slumbering  guns,  that  tones  emphatic  spoke. 
Now  the  ' '  Serapis' '  would  he  capture  here, 
Where  the  bold  headland  rises  true  and  clear. 
But  late,  with  crew  select,  she  sailed  in  pride  ; 
No  ship  more  buoyant  ever  clove  the  tide. 
The  "Bon  Homme  Richard"  dares  not  to  com 
pete 

With  the  proud  frigate,  jewel  of  the  fleet. 
But  in  her  captain's  iron  will  her  trust  ; 
If  Paul  say  "Conquer,"  conquer  then  he  must. 
If  in  his  might  he  bid  the  broadside  tell, 
Each  plank  of  British  oak  shall  feel  the  spell, 
The  mizzen  tremble  like  an  autumn  leaf, 
And  the  hull  shake  as  harvest's  nodding  sheaf. 
61 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

See  !  the  ' '  Serapis' '  breaks  the  silence.     See  ! 
That  raking  broadside,  Paul,  was  meant  for  thee. 
Hark  !  how  the  shout  from  Flamborough  arose, 
While  the  full  moon  inspirited  the  foes. 
But  wait  till  o'er  the  tide  the  galling  shower 
Shall  open  seams  within  thy  sides  of  power. 
Stern,  full,  relentless,  every  rebel  ball, 
Like  Vulcan's  bolt,  with  vengeful  strength  must 

fall. 
Now  from  the  "Bon   Homme"  comes  the  quick 

reply, 

And  lights  the  headland  and  the  autumn  sky  ; 
And  on  the  coast  deep  feelings  ebb  and  flow. 
The  cheek  in  pallor,  or  the  heart's  stern  throe, 
Attest  the  interest  of  the  spell-bound  throng, 
And  how  emotion's  current  hastes  along. 
Look  up  !  the  British  bowsprit  thou  canst  hold, 
For  o'er  thy  poop  it  comes.    Rouse,  warrior  bold  ! 
Seize,  seize  the  ropes  which  from  that  bowsprit 

hang 

And  make  them  fast.     Ah  !  how  the  welkin  rang 
When,  swinging  round,  alongside  thus  she  lay  ! 
And  when  with  heightening  ardor  raged  the  fray, 
The  bow  of  one  close  to  its  neighbor's  stern, 
The  cordage  flames,  the  seasoned  timbers  burn, 
Commingled  prayers  and  imprecations  rise  ; 
The  foeman's  mainmast  totters,  then  it  lies, 
Like  the  tall  giant,  when  he  bent  the  head, 
And  awed  Philistia  knew  her  champion  dead. 
62 


'j6  Lyrics  of  tJic  Revolution 

Strike,  strike  your  colors  !    Soon  the  midnight  bell 

Will  sound  for  many  a  tar  its  solemn  knell. 

The  "  Bon  Homme  Richard"  soon  must  sink  like 

lead, 

When  all  her  wounded  on  your  deck  are  spread. 
But  Freedom's  cause  shall  never  thus  be  merged 
While  her  bold  claim  by  iron  hearts  is  urged. 
Let  but  such  men  as  he  whose  stentor  tone 
Made  every  sailor  its  bewitchment  own  ; 
Let  but  such  men  as  Paul  the  flag  defend, 
And  Britain's  monarch  may  his  raiment  rend, 
And    Flamborough    head    be   but    the    exponent 

stern 
Of  what  we  rebels  teach,  and  what  the  Crown  must 

learn. 


THE   SOLILOQUY   OF   ARNOLD. 

\Yhen  he  was  invested  with  the  command  of  West 
Point  by  Washington,  General  Arnold  entered  into  a 
secret  correspondence  with  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  and 
agivrd  that  he  would  make  a  disposition  of  his  forces 
which  would  enable  the  British  general  to  surprise  the 
post  under  such  circumstances  that  the  garrison  nuis-t 
either  lay  down  their  arms  or  be  cut  to  pieces. 

THE  plan  is  fixed.     I  fluctuate  no  more 
Betwixt  despair  and  hope.     As  leaves  the  shore 
The  hardy  mariner,  though  adverse  fate 
May  merge  his  bark,  or  cast  him  desolate 
63 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  tlie  Revolution 

Upon  a  savage  coast,  so,  wrought  at  last 
Up  to  a  frenzied  purpose,  I  have  passed 
The  Rubicon.     Farewell,  my  old  renown  ! 
Here  I  breathe  mildew  on  my  warrior  crown  ; 
Here  honor  parts  from  me,  and  base  deceit 
Steps  to  the  usurper's  throne.     I  cannot  meet 
The  withering  censure  of  the  rebel  band, 
And  therefore  to  the  strong  I  yield  this  heart  and 
hand. 

What  else  befits  me  ?     I  have  misapplied 

The  nation's  funds,  and  ever  gratified 

Each  vaulting  wish,  tho'  Justice  wept  the  deed  ; 

And  here,  beneath  the  load  of  pressing  need, 

I  must  have  gold.      How  else  the  clamorous  cry 

Of  creditors  appease,  and  satisfy 

Demands  which  haunt  me  more  than  dreams  of 

blood, 

And  claims  which  chill  more  than  Canadian  flood  ? 
Stay?     My  accounts  betray  the  swindler's  mark. 
Go?  and  my  path,  though  smooth,  like  Tartarus 

is  dark. 

These  rocky  ridges,  how  they  shelve  on  high, 
Each  a  stern  sentinel  in  majesty. 
Yes,  'tis  your  own  Gibraltar, —Washington. 
And  must  the  stronghold  of  his  hope  be  won  ? 
Won  ?     Twenty  thousand  scarcely  could  invest 
That  sure  defence,  which  o'er  the  river's  breast 
64 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  tJic  Revolution 

Casts  a  gigantic  shadow  ;  but  my  plan 
Dispenses  with  the  formidable  van, 
And  Clinton  may  my  garrison  surprise, 
With  few  sulphureous  clouds  to  blot  these  azure 
skies. 


And  yet  a  pang  comes  over  me.     I  see 

Myself  at  Saratoga  ;  full  and  free 

Goes  up  the  peal  of  noble-hearted  men. 

Among  the  wounded  am  I  numbered  then  ; 

And  my  outgushing  feelings  cling  to  those 

Who  perilled  all  to  face  their  country's  foes. 

Ah  !  when  that  wound  a  soldier's  pride  increased, 

And  gratulation  scarce  its  paean  ceased, 

I  thought  not  then,  O  God  !  the  stamp  of  shame 

Would  stand  imprinted  thus  upon  my  hard-earned 

fame. 

Avaunt,  compunction  !    Conscience,  to  the  wind  ! 
Gold, — gold  I  need, — gold  must  Sir  Henry  find. 
A  rankling  grudge  is  mine,  for  why  not  I 
Commander  of  their  forces?     To  the  sky 
Ever  goes  up  the  peal  for  Washington. 
Is  he  a  god,  Virginia's  favored  son? 
Why  should  the  incense  fume  for  evermore  ? 
Must  he  my  skill,  my  prowess  shadow  o'er? 
Ere  this  autumnal  moon  has  filled  its  horn, 
His   honors    must   be    nipp'd,   his    rising   glories 

shorn. 
5  65 


'76  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

Ah  !  he  securely  rests  upon  my  faith 
Securely,  when  the  spectre  dims  his  path. 
How  unsuspecting  has  he  ever  been  ! 
Above  the  false,  the  sinister,  the  mean  ! 
But  hold  such  eulogy  ;  I  will  not  praise  ; 
Mine  is  the  task  to  tarnish  all  his  bays. 
West  Point,  thy  rocky  ridges  seem  to  say  : 
Be  firm  as  granite,  crown  the  work  to-day, 
Blot  Saratoga,  hearth  and  home  abjure, 
Andre  I  meet  again,  the  gold  I  must  secure. 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  ANDRE. 

When  returning  from  a  conference  with  Arnold, 
Major  Andr6  was  intercepted  on  the  22d  of  September, 
near  the  village  of  Tarrytown,  by  three  faithful  militia 
soldiers  ;  John  Paulding,  Isaac  Van  Wert,  and  David 
Williams,  and  by  the  laws  of  war  forfeited  his  life  to  a 
country  struggling  with  an  accumulation  of  disasters. 
—  Grimshaw'  s  History,  page  169. 

THE  midnight  conference  was  deep  and  long, 
The  plan  began  with  guilt  was  sealed  with  wrong. 
Between  the  British  and  our  army's  posts, 
While  slumber  settled  on  the  mighty  hosts, 
Landed  in  silence  from  the  sloop-of-war 
Andre,  of  modern  chivalry  the  star, 
Young,  brave,  ingenuous,  never  more  to  press 
A  soldier's  couch  in  hope  or  happiness. 
66 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

That  sloop  which  bore  him  owned  a  fitting  name, 
The   Vulture,  index  of  Britannia's  shame. 
Yes,  like  that  bird  ye  sought  but  to  devour, 
And  glut  your  vengeance  in  that  gloomy  hour. 
Arnold  was  there,  and  as  the  time  sped  by, 
Forgot  to  trace  the  streakings  of  the  sky, 
Till  daybreak  came,  and  up  the  wide  expanse 
Shot  an  autumnal  sun  his  rising  glance. 
The  "Vulture,"  meanwhile,  felt  the  foeman's  fire, 
And  down  the  stream  did  prudently  retire. 
Within  our  posts  conducted,  Andre  lay 
In  dread  concealment  ;  then  upon  the  way 
Afresh  he  started,  clad  in  deep  disguise, 
Furnished  with  passports  ;  and  his  longing  eyes 
Strained  to  the  point  where  Albion's  lion  crest 
Should  welcome  him  to  honor  and  to  rest. 
Ride  on,  John  Anderson*  thy  boots  contain 
The  golden  documents  thy  lord  would  gain. 
There,  snugly  packed,  are  statements  in  detail 
Which  clothe  Sir  Henry  with  a  coat  of  mail  ; 
The  key  of  our  Gibraltar  is  thine  own, 
And  Freedom  now  must  cower  beneath  the  throne. 
Safety  attends  thee  still  ;  the  British  lines 
Are  near,  yet  nearer,  and  thy  planet  shines 
Auspicious  in  its  mild  benignity  ; 
When,  lo  !  its  disc  is  darkening.     See,  ah  !  see 

*  He  was  thus  designated,  while  Arnold  assumed  the 
name  of  Gustavus. 

67 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Those  tall  emerging  forms.     Detected  now, 

The  diadem  will  pale  upon  thy  brow. 

Question  and  answer  quickly  come  and  go  ; 

The  net  its  meshes  has  begun  to  throw, 

And  in  an  iron  gripe,  whose  tightening  hold 

Relaxes  not  a  particle  for  gold, 

Is  Andre  now.     Begin  the  search,  and  see 

The  record  deep  of  man's  duplicity. 

There  Arnold's   pen   your  wondering   eyes  shall 

meet ; 

Haste,  bear  the  packet  to  your  leader's  feet. 
To  you,  militiamen,  this  day  is  given, 
Whether  the  chain  of  fate  be  forged  or  riven  ; 
Stern  in  your  honest  manhood,  take  him  hence, 
And  fame  will  be  your  bright  inheritance  ; 
On  to  the  quarters  of  your  captain  brave, 
Secure  your  prisoner,  and  your  country  save. 
Paulding,  Van  Wert,  and  Williams,  noble  three  ! 
Your  memory  greener  grows  ;  and  even  we 
Hold  you  in  grateful  reverence,  though  we  sigh 
For  that  poor  captured  youth  thus  doomed  to  die. 
Ne'er  shall  the  fact  be  lost  that  hearts  there  are, 
Unquelled  by  Garter  and  unbought  by  Star  ; 
Whose  country's  honor  far  outweighed  a  crown, 
When  trembled,  to  a  hair,  the  scales  near  Tarry- 
town. 


68 


Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


ANDRE  ON  THE  EVE  OF  EXECUTION. 

Allusion  is  made  in  this  lyric  to  the  fact  of  Washing 
ton's  deep  feeling  when  he  signed  the  death-warrant ; 
also  to  the  artistic  talents  of  Andre"  as  a  painter  and  a 
poet ;  and,  finally,  to  his  memorable  saying  in  reference 
to  the  mode  of  his  death,  after  pleading  for  the  substi 
tution  of  a  nobler  one,  "  It  will  be  but  a  momentary 
pang." 

THE  lilac  shall  bud  and  the  sweet  hawthorn  blos 
som, 

Old  Severn  shall  roll  his  glad  waves  to  the  sea, 
But  Andre  will  sleep  with  the  clod  on  his  bosom, 

And  the  proud  dream  of  glory  be  darkened  for  me. 
Sir  Henry  has  sued,  with  a  soldier's  devotion, 

The  scorn  to  avert  and  the  blow  to  restrain  ; 
But   give   me   the   cup,    and    though    bitter   the 
potion, 

To  its  dregs,  like  a  hero,  the  draught  I  will  drain. 

To-morrow,  with  guard,  I   must  march  from  my 
prison, 

No  kindred  to  cheer  me,  no  comrade  to  weep  ; 
By  slumber  unblest  from  my  pillow  I've  risen, 

But  soon  in  the  tomb  how  unbroken  the  sleep  ! 
Dear  country  !  illumined  by  actions  of  glory, 

My  blood  at  thy  shrine  a  libation  I  pour  ; 
Let  Andre  but  live  in  thy  chronicled  story, 

And,  dying  in  joy,  I  petition  no  more. 
69 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

In  pride  I  sustained  the  ordeal  of  trial, 

Dissemble  I  would  not,  concealment  I  spurned  ; 
I  asked  but  one  boon,  it  was  met  with  denial, 

Though  candor  itself  said  the  favor  was  earned. 
1  will  not  upbraid  him,  the  tear  fell  unbidden, 
When  the  sweep  of  his  pen  darkened  nature  for 

me, 

And  I  know  the  full  pulse  of  his  mercy  was  chid 
den 

When  the  rope  of  the  culprit  was  made  the  de 
cree. 

Oh,  son  of  Virginia  !  the  well-spring  of  feeling 

Courses  up  in  thy  heart  like  the  tides  of  the 

main, 

And  though  from   the  throng   thy  emotion    con 
cealing, 

A  Washington's  eye  holds  its  moisture  in  vain. 
Farewell  to  the  hero  !     His  future  shall  brighten  ; 

I  see  the  clear  dawn  as  I  pass  to  my  tomb  ; 
The  burden  of  care  on  his  spirit  will  lighten, 

And  Hope  as  his  chaplet  of  amaranth  bloom. 

When  late  from  the  meadows  enamelled  I  bounded, 
And    heard    the    sweet    song-bird    its    melody 

pour, 

Ah  !  little  thought  I,  as  the  war-bugle  sounded, 
The   music   and   verdure  should  greet   me    no 
more. 

70 


*?6  Lyrics  of  the  Rcvohition 

The  lilac  shall  bud  and  the  sweet  hawthorn  blos 
som, 

Old  Severn  shall  roll  his  glad  waves  to  the  sea, 
But  Andre  shall  sleep  with  the  clod  on  his  bosom, 
And  the  proud  dream  of  glory  be  darkened  for 
me. 

My  pencil,  farewell  !  all  the  tintings  of  beauty 

The  canvas  will  hold  when  my  heart  is  at  rest. 
The  art  that  I  cherished,  unbending  from  duty, 

The  last  I  resign,  for  I  prize  it  the  best  ; 
For,  oh,  my  creations  of  fancy  when  tracing, 

The  fate  of  the  spy  would  grow  soft  by  its  spell, 
But  now  the  stern  truth  the  fair  vision  is  chasing ; 

Art,  fondest  enchantress,  farewell,  oh,  farewell  ! 

Rise,  gild  the  horizon,  last  sun  of  my  being  ; 

The  pang  but  a  moment,  eternal  the  peace. 
Home,  kindred,  and  love,  like  a  mist  ye  are  flee 
ing  ; 

One  spasm  of  pain  and  the  conflict  will  cease. 
Oh,  England  !  illumined  by  actions  of  glory, 

My  blood  at  thy  shrine  a  libation  I  pour  ; 
Let  Andre"  but  live  in  thy  chronicled  story, 

And,  dying  in  joy,  I  petition  no  more. 


Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


THE  BOY  HERO   OF  RAMSOUR'S  MILL. 

At  the  battle  of  Ramsour's  Mill,  when  Captain  Falls 
received  a  mortal  wound  and  fell,  his  son,  a  youth  of 
fourteen,  rushed  to  the  body  when  the  man  who  had 
shot  him  was  beginning  to  plunder  it,  and,  regardless  of 
his  opponent's  strength,  snatched  up  his  father's  sword 
and  laid  him  dead  at  his  parent's  feet. — Grimshaw' 's 
History. 

THE  foeman  bent,  with  lucre-loving  heart, 

Above  the  rebel's  scarcely  breathing  form, 
As  if  to  plunder  was  the  noblest  part 

That  heroes  played  in  battle's  maddening  storm. 
Oh,  what  a  brand  of  shame  our  nature  bears, 

When  gold  the  milk  of  kindness  turns  to  gall, 
And  Mammon  fails  to  cast  aside  its  cares, 

Though  fate  should  interpose  a  crimson  pall ! 

Perchance  but  little  spoil  would  crown  the  search, 

Some  trifling  coins,  a  pencil,  or  a  knife  ; 
Why    should    the    vulture,    sweeping    from    his 
perch, 

Outrage  for  these  the  decencies  of  life  ? 
Or  wrhy,  his  task  extending,  should  he  claim 

The  dripping  vestments  as  a  perquisite  ? 
He  thus  who  gloats  on  the  denuded  frame 

Might  at  the  Cross  with  Roman  soldiers  sit. 
72 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

There  was  an  eye  that  scanned  the  roving  hand ; 

There  was  a  boyish  heart  that  laid  aside 
Its  timid  fears,  and  springing  to  command, 

Mustered  its  surges  in  the  boiling  tide. 
Thoughts  of  his  early  life  came  trooping  fast 

Through  Memory's  portals,  and  he  sat  again 
Upon  a  father's  knee,  when  toil  was  past 

And  eve's  long  shadows  stretched   across   the 
plain. 

He  felt  his  loving  clasp,  his  warm  breath  came, 

Stirring  the  ringlets  on  his  little  head, 
And  now  he  saw  the  plunderer  o'er  his  frame, 

In  deep  dishonor  to  the  noble  dead. 
In  that  brief  moment  vengeance  ruled  his  soul; 

Like  sudden  tempest  to  the  charge  he  swept, 
The  sword  he  wielded  with  a  man's  control, 

And    Mammon's   bond-slave  back  to  darkness 
crept. 

And  yet  but  fourteen  summers  he  had  seen, 

That  hero  child,  who,  like  Minerva,  sprang, 
A  perfect  warrior  on  the  crimson  green, 

Prepared  Bellona's  massive  bow  to  twang. 
He,  whose  dear,  gentle  spirit  would  recoil 

At  pain  inflicted  on  the  creeping  worm, 
Could  sternly  guard  his  own  invaded  soil, 

And  be  for  justice  as  Gibraltar  firm. 
73 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

There  is  a  depth  of  earnestness  in  youth, 

A  strength  of  purpose  hidden  from  the  sight, 
A  keen,  appreciating  sense  of  Truth, 

A  tightening  clasp  to  Honor  and  to  Right. 
Let  the  occasion  spring  the  mine,  and  then 

Each  sleeping  germ  vitality  acquires, 
And  smooth-cheeked  boyhood  feels  the  pulse  of 
men, 

And  freedom's  children  emulate  their  sires. 

At  Ramsour's  Mill  the  tyrant  might  despond 
When    fledgling    rebels    made   their   mark    so 

true, 
And    mothers,     as    they    kissed     their    children 

fond, 

Bade  them  do  service  to  the  Buff  and  Blue. 
Still  may  that  spirit  in  our  offspring  burn, 
Still  may  the  patriot  fathers'  mantle  fall, 
That  while  our  ashes  rest  within  the  urn 

Freedom  may  find  in  them  her  bold,  encircling 
wall. 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 

When  Louis  XVI.  of  France  espoused  the  cause  of  the 
suffering  Americans,  he  was  opposed  by  the  Count  cle 
Vergenues  and  the  Court,  but  the  slroiii;  appeal  of  the 

74 


' 7<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Commissioners,  and  the  very  urgent  solicitation  of  his 
Queen,  whom  he  fondly  loved,  turned  the  scale  in  their 
favor. 

ON  the  scaffold,  reeking  yet 

With  her  royal  husband's  blood, 
Kneels  Marie  Antoinette, 

Pure,  and  beautiful,  and  good, 
'Mid  the  strife,  and  'mid  the  din, 

Calm  as  summer-breath  at  even  ; 
Ah  !  that  ice-cold  guillotine 

Does  but  speed  her  soul  to  heaven. 

By  that  scaffold,  reeking  yet 

With  the  blood  of  Louis  brave, 
Love  and  sorrow  to  forget, 

Steadily  she  scanned  the  grave, 
And  the  children  of  her  heart,* 

And  her  kingdom's  sunny  clime, 
She  could  with  them  freely  part, 

In  a  mart>r-faith  sublime. 

Golden  is  the  braided  strand, 
Bright  and  beauteous  is  the  tie 

Which  connects  our  own  dear  land 
With  that  spirit  pure  and  high. 

*She  perished  on  the  scaffold  in  1793,  October  16,  with 
calmness  and  dignity,  nine  months  after  the  execution 
of   Louis,  leaving  the  Dauphin  and  his  sister  orphans. 
As  an  advocate-  of  our  country,  we  love  her  memory. 
75 


'  j 6* Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

To  that  soft,  persuasive  tongue, 
When  for  succor  sued  the  weak, 

Sympathetic  accents  clung, 

All  that  woman's  heart  could  speak. 

O'er  the  far  Atlantic  strove 

Freedom,  fainting  in  the  fray  ; 
Must  the  tempest  whelm  the  dove  ? 

Must  the  Lion  rend  his  prey  ? 
Will  no  arm,  encased  in  steel, 

Prop  the  feeble,  staggering  band  ? 
Or,  must  history  reveal 

Heroes'  efforts  traced  in  sand  ? 

"  No  !"  a  gentle  voice  replies, 

And  its  tones  are  lofty  now  ; 
See  the  flashing  of  her  eyes, — 

See  the  noble,  queenly  brow  ! 
' '  No  ;  our  fleet  your  waves  shall  grace, 

Bearing  thunder  as  they  glide, 
And  our  Fleur-de-lis  shall  trace 

England  on  our  streamers  wide. 

"Oh,  my  husband,  bright  the  gleam 

From  the  jewels  on  thy  breast, 
And  as  childhood's  pleasant  dream, 

Calm  will  be  thy  evening's  rest 
When  thy  pen,  with  potent  sweep, 

Seals  deliverance  sure  and  true, 
Faith  with  Washington  to  keep, 

Compact  thou  wilt  never  rue. ' ' 
76 


'?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Could  such  pleading  be  repelled  ? 

Could  such  suit  be  turned  aside  ? 
When  Compassion's  bosom  swelled, 

Must  not  love  be  gratified  ? 
Yes,  the  son  of  France  no  more 

Heeded  cold,  prudential  form, 
And  he  pledged  his  treasured  store 

Like  a  brother  in  the  storm. 

Oh,  that  scaffold  where  she  kneels, 

How  our  hearts  about  it  cling  ! 
Pity  to  our  bosom  steals, 

Sheltered  as  a  sacred  thing. 
Daughter  of  a  noble  line, 

We  would  not  thy  name  forget, 
Green  the  chaplet  we  would  twine 

Round  thy  memory,  Antoinette  ! 


TARLETON   AND   THE   LADIES. 

At  a  social  gathering  in  Charleston,  South  Carolina, 
at  which  Colonel  Tarleton,  of  the  English  cavalry,  was 
present  as  one  of  the  company,  some  of  the  ladies  com- 
plitnenting  Colonel  Washington,  he  expressed  a  wish  to 
see  him.  "  Had  you  looked  behind  you  at  the  battle  of 
the  Cowpens,"  said  a  lady,  "you  might  easily  have  en 
joyed  that  pleasure." — Grims/ia^s  History. 

I Njsociall festivity  passing  the  hour 
SatjTarleton,  the  prince  of  dragoons, 

77 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Now  scanning  a  painting,  now  smelling  a  flower, 

Now  serving  Apollo  with  tunes  ; 
The  pet  of  Cornwallis  and  chivalry's  boast, 

The  noblest  to  do  and  to  dare, 
At  Cowpens  he  lately  had  closed  with  a  host, 

And  come  off  rather  worse  for  the  wear. 

The  ladies  of  Charleston,  with  radiant  face, 

An  interlude  gave  him  of  joy, 
And  visions  of  sabres  were  banished  the  place, 

For  he  felt,  in  his  bliss,  like  a  boy  ; 
The  fire  of  the  demon  died  out  in  his  heart, 

And  harmony  gained  on  his  breast, 
Till  envy  compelled  him  from  calmness  to  start 

At  the  praise  for  a  rebel  expressed. 

Colonel  Washington's    name  was   the   theme    of 
their  lay, 

Those  guardians  of  merit,  the  fair, — 
His  bearing  at  hearth,  and  his  prowess  in  fray, 

His  manners,  his  voice,  and  his  air. 
Oh,  why  dost  thou  wince  as  the  plaudits  are  rung? 

Oh,  wherefore  that  cloud  of  a  frown  ? 
The  ladies,  you  know,  have  a  voluble  tongue, 

Which  censure  may  never  vote  down. 

But  the  prince  of  dragoons  cannot  bottle  his  rage, 
Though  graces  and  fairies  are  nigh  ; 

He  stoops  to  a  flower,  he  walks  to  a  cage, 
And  thinks,  "  Like  canary  am  I  ; 
78 


'/<5  L\rics  of  the  Revolution 

Surrounded  by  wires,  escape  is  but  vain, 

But  still  I  will  aim  to  be  free  ; 
And  if  ever  I  mix  with  these  ladies  again, 

Then  good-by  to  the  sabre  for  me. 

"  I  often  have  heard  of  this  hero  renowned 

(At  last  poured  the  torrent  of  ire)  ; 
It  seems  that  his  equal  is  yet  to  be  found 

In  province,  or  township,  or  shire  ; 
His  eulogy  comes  with  an  emphasis  now, 

Endorsed  by  the  sweetest  of  smiles  ; 
I  never  have  seen  him,  but,  ladies,  I  vow, 

It  appears  worth  a  journey  of  miles." 

The  State  of  Palmetto  was  ready  with  wit, 

And  here  was  a  chance  for  the  girls  ; 
Of  fine  Attic  salt  they  would  sprinkle  a  bit, 

In  spite  of  old  England  and  earls. 
Said  one,  "  If  behind  you  a  glance  you  had  thrown 

When  beating  the  Cowpens  retreat,* 
Colonel  Washington  then  would  his  visage  have 
shown, 

And  told  you  to  keep  in  your  seat." 

*  In  the  battle  of  the  Cowpens  Colonel  Washington 
made  a  successful  charge  upon  Colonel  Tarleton,  who 
was  cutting  clown  the  militia.  Colonel  W.  pursued  the 
British  cavalry  for  miles,  but  many  of  them  escaped. 
Kighl  hundred  stand  of  arms,  two  field-pieces,  eighty-five 
baggage- wagons,  and  five  hundred  prisoners  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  victorious  Americans. — Ramsay's  Ilis/orv 
of Sou tli  (  \t  rot  in  a. 

79 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


THE   DEAD   IN   BATTLE. 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  SOLDIERS  OF 
OUR  ARMY  IN  THE  CONTINENTAL  WAR. 

SING  for  the  dead  in  battle  ; 

They  fell  'mid  cannon  peal, 
The  musketry's  stern  rattle, 

The  flash  of  tempered  steel  ; 
For  greener  are  the  hill-tops, 

Which  once  in  youth  they  trod, 
Since  those  brave  hearts  were  offered 

A  holocaust  to  God. 

Where  rolls  the  blue  Potomac, 

Where  Holyoke's  peak  doth  rise, 
And  grows  the  tall  palmetto 

Beneath  the  Southern  skies, 
From  many  a  scattered  homestead 

We  see  their  legions  come, 
Thrilled  by  the  good  old  music 

Of  Continental  drum. 

Their  golden  grain  was  bending, 

Their  sickle  was  unswung, 
No  harvest  song  ascending 

From  lusty  yeoman's  tongue  ; 
Another  field  before  them 

To  enterprise  invites, 
So 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  ripe,  and  rich,  and  beautiful, 
The  sheaves  of  freemen's  rights. 

Where  fought  the  bold  Pulaski, 

And  Steuben  led  the  way  ; 
Where  Lafayette  was  charging, 

On  wings  of  wind  were  they  ; 
A  body-guard  of  Spartans 

To  Putnam,  Gates,  and  Greene, 
Their  camp-fires  all  were  kindled, 

Their  sentinels  were  seen. 

They  asked  no  rich  provision, 

For  coarse  as  was  the  fare 
(And  oft  'mid  winter's  rigor 

Their  limbs  were  cold  and  bare), 
The  heart  had  warm  pulsations, 

The  arm  had  sinew  free, 
And  a  dream  came  to  their  pillows 

Of  their  children's  liberty. 

Sing  for  the  dead  in  battle  ; 

They  fell  'mid  shout  and  fame, 
And  musketry's  stern  rattle 

With  death's  own  anguish  came. 
But  as  they  passed  the  portals 

The  dew  of  Hope  was  shed, 
And  they  blest  the  cause,  immortal, 

For  which  they  freely  bled. 
6  81 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Oh,  children  of  the  bravest, 

Oh,  offspring  of  the  great, 
The  boon  they  have  bequeathed  you 

Preserve  inviolate  ! 
From  Bunker  Hill  to  Yorktown, 

And  thence  to  Eutaw  Spring's, 
The  whole  extent  is  covered 

With  more  than  seraph  wings. 

The  Stripe  and  Star  has  floated 

O'er  many  a  league  of  space, 
And  States  in  quick  succession 

Have  found  among  us  place  ; 
But  resting  in  their  borders, 

And  hallowing  all  the  shore, 
The  spirit  of  our  fathers 

Must  linger  evermore. 

Sing  for  the  dead  in  battle, 

Sing  for  the  true  of  heart, 
For  of  our  sun-bright  heritage 

Are  they  the  choicest  part  ; 
Each  pebble  is  a  jewel, 

Where  once  their  footsteps  trod, 
And  where  such  hearts  were  offered 

A  holocaust  to  God. 


82 


Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


GENERAL  GREENE  AND  THE  CLAP 
BOARDS. 

After  General  Nathaniel  Greene,  in  his  memorable 
retreat  from  Cormvallis,  had  crossed  in  succession  the 
rivers  Catavvba  and  Yadkin,  in  North  Carolina,  he  en 
camped  on  rising  ground  beyond  the  latter  stream.  Oc 
cupying  a  little  frame  building  himself,  with  a  natural 
breastwork  of  rock,  he  began  writing  his  despatches  ; 
but  O'Hara,  from  the  other  side,  commenced  a  cannon 
ade  upon  him,  which  sent  the  clapboards  of  the  lowly 
cabin  flying  in  all  directions  about  his  head.  Such  was 
his  composure  that  he  retained  his  position  and  com 
pleted  his  despatches. 

HE  sat  in  a  cabin  with  tranquil  mind, 

And  a  breastwork  of  rocks  before  it, 
And  friend  O'Hara  was  quite  inclined 

By  a  cannonade  brisk  to  gore  it  ; 
But  Natty  Greene  was  a  Quaker  raised, 

And  the  quietness  of  the  spirit 
Would  not  allow  him  to  grow  amazed, 

By  giving  him  strength  to  bear  it. 

Across  Catawba,  a  rapid  stream, 
He  had  fled  with  his  trusty  legion, 

And  the  foeman's  sword  had  a  vengeful  gleam, 
For  it  waved  in  a  Tory  region  ; 

Across  the  Yadkin  he  pushed  his  way, 
When  low  was  the  ebbing  water  ; 
83 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

But  on  swept  the  flags  of  Cornwallis  gay, 
All  ready  to  bathe  in  slaughter. 

But  snugly  camped  on  a  rising  ground, 

With  a  swollen  flood  between  them, 
The  rebels  laughed  at  the  hail-storm's  sound, 

With  a  breastwork  of  rock  to  screen  them 
And  the  cabin  roof,  when  it  caught  a  rap, 

As  it  now  and  then  did  by  snatches, 
Gave  music  to  Greene  at  every  tap, 

As  he  sat  and  prepared  despatches. 

Did  O'Hara  know  that  the  cabin  held 

The  man  who  so  bravely  foiled  him  ? 
Did  he  vow  the  pea  should  be  fairly  shelled 

Before  in  his  rage  he  boiled  him  ? 
Or  did  he  direct  a  random  gun, 

And  go  by  the  law  of  chances  ; 
Reckless  though  hundreds  miss,  if  one 

To  Nathaniel  Greene  advances  ? 

The  clapboards  flew  like  a  frightened  flock 

Of  birds  in  a  field  .of  clover, 
And  some  of  the  staff,  as  they  felt  the  shock, 

Decided  that  all  was  over  ; 
But  the  wary  chief,  with  his  pen  in  gear, 

Was  putting  the  ink  on  paper  ; 
Should  he,  who  had  cleared  two  rivers,  fear 

When  a  shingle  cut  a  caper  ? 


'f  6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  God  of  that  swollen  flood,  whose  cloud 

Secreted  a  deluge  timely  ; 
The  God  of  battles,  to  whom  he  bowed, 

Could  protect  his  child  sublimely ; 
Since  to  Morgan's  camp  he  had  turned  his  face 

When  the  Cowpens'  fray  was  finished, 
That  guiding  hand  he  could  clearly  trace, 

Nor  yet  was  his  faith  diminished. 

There  have  been  hearts  who,  in  danger's  hour, 

Have  breasted  in  joy  the  surges, 
And  proved  that  misfortune  lost  its  power 

For  such  as  were  Boanerges  ; 
But  surely  he  who,  when  clapboards  flew, 

Sat  writing  in  calmness  under, 
By  a  double  claim  may  the  word  renew, 

And  be  known  as  a  Son  of  Thunder. 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN. 

Kind's  Mountain  was  an  eminence  of  a  circular  base. 
On  this  Colonel  Ferguson  was  encamped  with  the  Tories. 
Colonels  Cleveland,  Shelby,  Sevier,  and  \Yilliams  U  d  on 
to  the  charge  each  his  own  men.  Some  ascended  the 
mountain,  while  others  went  round  its  base,  in  opposite 
directions.  The  action  became  general.  The  killed, 
wounded,  and  taken  were  over  eleven  hundred.  Colonel 
85 


'/^  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Ferguson  had  previously  been  training  the  disaffected 
young  men  and  enlisting  them. — Ramsay's  History  of 
South  Carolina. 

WE  have  him  on  the  mountain  now,  a  lion  fierce 

at  bay, 
Then  up,  and  spread  your  toils  at  once,  and  on  to 

the  foray  ; 
Cleveland  and  Shelby  in  the  van,  with  Williams  in 

the  rear, 
Flanked  by  the  heart  of  oak  that  throbs  so  sternly 

in  Sevier  ; 
Four  rebel  knights  upon  their  shields  have  struck 

a  brazen  tone, 
And   given  to  the  waiting  winds  the  spell-word, 

Ferguson  ! 
Around  that  mountain's  rocky  base,   and  up  its 

slope  of  green, 
Our  rifle-locks  will  take  a  hue  from  heaven's  own 

garish  sheen. 
Upon  its  apex  we  must  stand,  the  victors  of  the 

hour, 
And  front  to  front  repel  the  host,  whose  serried 

columns  lower. 
King's    Mountain  !    blot    the  soaring   name  !    the 

Tory  brood  must  die  ; 

While  we  another  title  give— the  Mount  of  Lib 
erty. 
Baptized  anew,  from  its  broad  height  the  patriot's 

eye  shall  view, 

86 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Through  the  transforming  lens  of  Hope,  a  land 
scape  bold  and  new  ; 

No  haze  to  intercept  the  beam,  whose  fairy  tint 
shall  write 

Those  blessed  words   "The  promised  land!"  on 
every  rood  in  sight. 

We  have  him  on  the  mountain  now,  he  who  has 
trained  our  young 

To  speak  of  Washington  the  brave  with  free  and 
ribald  tongue  ; 

He  who  has  trailed  his  serpent  length  in  many  a 
garden  pure, 

And    by  his  honeyed  speech  has  made  his  victim 
doubly  sure, 

His  banner  with  its  royal  crest,  his  overtures  of  guile, 

His  wild  harangue,  or  flowery  tropes,    or  bland, 
seductive  smile, 

His  show  of  wealth,  his  promise,  too,  of  guerdons 
yet  to  come, 

Have   lured   our  fledglings   from  their  nest,   our 
children  from  their  home  ; 

They  have  been  trained  by  martial  rule  in  fratri 
cidal  war, 

Trained  on   their  kin   the   curse   to  heap   'neath 
Hate's  malignant  star. 

Such  tutelage  might  well  become  a  spirit  lost  to 
shame, 

Hut  manhood  he  has  blotted  out  from  his  dishon 
ored  name. 

87 


'/<5  Lyi'ics  of  the  Revolution 

Injustice  finds  but  sordid  means  to  compass  ends 

of  wrong, 
And  truth  and  goodness  prove  to  it  a  byword  and 

a  song. 
They  march  with  spirits  strung  to  hope,  and  round 

the  mountain  go, 

As  Hebrew  legions  once  of  old  surrounded  Jericho. 
Ho,  Ferguson  !  the  net  is  laid,  the  picket-guard 

is  vain  ; 
Rebels  can  to  the  mountain  press  if  you  refuse  the 

plain. 
Retreat  ye  may  not,  when  a  belt  of  galling  fire 

surrounds, 
And    stout    Invasion's    iron    tramp    from    every 

quarter  sounds  ; 

The  thrust  and  parry  of  the  sword,  the  hand-to- 
hand  foray, 
The  lips  compressed  and  sullen  brow,  are  all  in 

vain  to-day. 
Schooled  in  the  art  of  war,  and  trained  to  cunning 

and  finesse, 
Thy  tactics,  Ferguson  the  brave,  shall  never  serve 

thee  less  ; 
Above  a  thousand  shall    be  lost  on   whom    has 

leaned  thine  arm, 
Thy   bulwarks   must  forego   their   strength,    thy 

banner  fold  its  charm. 
On,  Shelby,  to  the  rescue  there  !     Press,  Williams, 

to  his  aid  ! 

88 


'7<3  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Look,  Cleveland,  how  the  ranks  grow  thin  beneath 
thy  trenchant  blade  ; 

And  yonder  plunges  our  Sevier  amid  the  heaving 
tide, 

Like  swimmer,  when  amid  the  sea  he  dashes  surge 
aside, 

While,  with  their  brows  like  stiffened  cords,  the 
standard-bearers  leap, 

And  plant  the  pennon  of  the  true  upon  the  crim 
son  steep. 

Thus  Carolina's  patriot  heart  with  Washington 
could  beat, 

And  from  her  borders  sounded  out  "The  Loyal 
ist's  Retreat." 

No  foot  of  ground  to  renegades  was  voted  by  the 
true, 

But  all  her  soil  was  Holyrood  that  met  the  ardent 
view  ; 

Her  pulse  was  lightning  to  the  touch,  when  the 
sword  she  buckled  on, 

And  hunted  from  his  mountain  lair  the  subtle 
Ferguson. 


FORT   NINETY-SIX. 

This    important    post   was    commanded    by   Colonel 
Cruger,  and  de-fended  by  five  hundred    men.     (ieneral 
Greene  determined  to  besiege  it  in  form.     He  accord 
ingly,  on  the  25th  of  May,  pushed  on  his   works  with 
89 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

vigor  ;  but  this  bright  prospect  of  success  was  suddenly 
overclouded  by  the  intelligence  that  Lord  Rawdon, 
having  received  reinforcements  from  Ireland,  was  hast 
ening  to  the  relief  of  his  countrymen  at  the  head  of  two 
thousand  men.  Greene  tried  to  carry  the  fort  by  assault, 
but  was  repulsed,  and  retreated  to  the  northward  across 
the  Saluda. 

OUR  mound  was  thirty  feet  in  air, 
Our  riflemen  were  posted  there, 

So  strong  the  vantage  ground  ; 
Saint  George  and  rebels  fairly  met, 
And  on  the  bristling  parapet 

We  made  the  bullets  sound. 

It  was  the  twenty-fifth  of  May 
When  freemen  caught  the  reveille 

And  sprang  before  the  ditch  ; 
And  Cruger  felt  how  vain  his  tricks 
To  keep  the  fort  of  Ninety-six 

So  close  within  our  reach. 

Augusta  had  surrendered  first, 

And  Lee,  who  manly  hopes  had  nursed, 

Had  proved  the  Chevalier. 
"  Push  on  to  Ninety-six,"  cried  Greene, 
"  To  wrench  their  last  defence  I  mean, 

And  keep  our  border  clear." 

"  Along  the  Congaree  their  posts 
Have  failed  to  verify  the  boasts 
90 


'/^5  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

Which  English  legions  swelled  ; 
When  Marion,  from  the  everglades, 
Put  lightning  in  his  rusty  blades, 

The  vaunting  heart  has  quailed." 

Then  merrily  the  ground  we  broke, 
And  music  lingered  in  the  stroke, 

And  pushed  our  works  with  form; 
For  hands  untrained  were  quick  to  learn, 
And  brows  were  fixed  and  looks  were  stern, 

Precursive  of  the  storm. 

"They'll  beat  a  parley,  yet,"  said  Greene, 
"  Savannah's  waters  with  their  sheen 

Shall  dance  in  double  joy, 
For  on  the  crested  parapet 
Our  rifle-balls  are  ringing  yet, 

And  powder  is  our  toy." 

"  But  Rawdon  comes  to  reinforce  !" 
Alas  !  like  note  of  raven  hoarse 

Fell  the  announcement  dire  ; 
From  Ireland  he  has  drawn  the  band, 
And  his  may  prove  a  wizard  wand 

To  intermit  our  fire. 

Hard  is  it  for  the  gallant  ship 
To  find  her  solid  cable  slip 

When  she  would  grasp  the  shore. 
91 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Hard  was  it  at  the  Isthmian  race 
For  combatant  to  yield  his  place 
And  sink  to  run  no  more. 

Thus  reaching  to  the  golden  fruit, 
We  had  to  yield, — in  hot  pursuit 

Pressed  Rawdon  on  our  men. 
"  Wheel,  and  retreat,"  the  words  of  gloom, 
The  flower  is  frosted  in  its  bloom, 

It  cannot  scent  the  glen. 

But  when  the  timid  said  to  Greene, 
11  In  old  Virginia  be  thou  seen, 

And  be  from  care  exempt," 
He  cried  with  words  of  proud  disdain, 
' '  Our  Carolina  I  will  gain 

Or  die  in  the  attempt !  ' ' 


THE   HEIGHTS   ABOVE   SANTEE. 

To  Orangeburg  retreats 

Lord  Rawdon  with  his  band, 
And  Colonel  Cruger  meets, 

With  forces  at  command. 
And  now  its  fold  invites 

That  banner  of  the  free, 
Where  it  mantles  on  the  heights, 

On  the  heights  above  Santee. 
92 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  scouting-parties  haste, 

With  Sumter  in  the  van, 
And  Marion  firmly  braced, 

To  play  again  the  man. 
"  From  Charleston  keep  them  back, 

Lest  stronger  grown  than  we, 
They  should  evade  our  track 

From  the  heights  above  Santee." 

"  What  is  the  news?"  said  Greene, 

"  My  scouting-parties  brave?" 
"  The  British  flag  is  seen 

By  Congaree's  blue  wave." 
"  Then  onward,  hearts  of  oak, 

Such  is  the  sure  decree, 
If  they  invite  the  stroke 

From  the  heights  above  Santee." 

Forth  pealed  the  clarion  note, 

The  bold  battalion  goes, 
The  trumpet's  brazen  throat 

Anticipates  the  blows. 
But  Rawdon  still  retreats, 

With  feeble  heart  and  knee, 
For  a  drum  behind  him  beats 

From  the  heights  above  Santee. 

At  Eutaw  Springs  they  halt, 
Like  panting  stag  at  bay  ; 

Ah  !  yonder  azure  vault 
Shall  blush  ere  close  of  day. 
93 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

For  the  red  cloud  of  war 

The  zenith  soon  must  see, 
Its  masses  roll  from  far, 

From  the  heights  above  Santee. 

' '  Regain  the  State  you  love, 

Old  Carolina  brave  ! 
They  who  for  lordship  strove 

May  measure  here  a  grave  ! 
Strike  for  your  leader,  Greene, 

A  thunderbolt  is  he, 
Whose  camp-fires  late  were  seen 

On  the  heights  above  Santee." 

The  musket  gives  the  ball, 

The  clashing  sword-blade  rings, 
And  hundreds  fighting  fall 

In  the  fray  at  Eutaw  Springs; 
To  Charleston  fled  the  rest, 

Like  phantoms  o'er  the  lea, 
To  one  small  section  prest, 

From  the  heights  above  Santee. 

Give  to  the  patriot  chief 

The  captured  standard  now,* 

And  trace  in  bold  relief 
Upon  the  gold  his  brow. 

*After  the  battle  of  Eutaw  Springs,  where  the  English, 
under  Lord  Rawdon,  lost  eleven  hundred  in  killed  and 
94 


' 7 6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  locust  horde  he  swept 
From  mainland  to  the  sea, 

When  to  the  vale  he  stept 

From  the  heights  above  Santee  ! 


COLONEL  HAYNE. 

When  Colonel  Hayne,  at  the  capitulation  of  Charles 
ton,  surrendered  himself  to  the  British,  he  was  told  that 
he  must  either  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  his  Britannic 
Majesty  or  submit  to  close  confinement.  He  took  the 
oath,  assured  that  he  would  not  be  called  upon  at  any 
future  period  to  take  up  arms  against  his  country.  This, 
however,  was  enjoined  subsequently,  and,  refusing  to  do 
it,  he  took  up  arms  for  liberty,  was  taken  prisoner,  and 
executed. 

THEY  told  me,  if  the  oath  I  took  to  Albion's  lord 

and  king, 
I  need  not  yet  against  my  land  a  hostile  weapon 

bring  ; 
They  told  me,  and  I  dreamed  that  faith  in  camps 

could  yet  remain, 

prisoners,  and  the  Americans  five  hundred,  including 
sixty  officers,  the-  enemy  left  the  interior  State  of  South 
Carolina  and  took  shelter  in  Charleston.  A  gold  medal 
and  a  captured  British  standard  were  bestowed  by  the 
Continental  Congress,  on  this  memorable  occasion,  upon 
General  Nathaniel  (ireene.  He  had  marched  from  the 
heights  above  Santee  and  pursued  the  forces  of  Cruger 
and  Rawdon  till  they  halted  for  action. 
95 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

That  on  my  hands  there  need  not  rest  one  fratri 
cidal  stain. 
Now  am  I  summoned  to  a  task  my  inmost  heart 

which  thrills, 
To  whirl  the  flaming  brand  of  war  upon  my  native 

hills  ; 
To  send  the  steely  truncheon  bright  against  the 

breasts  of  men 
Who  long  have  pledged  to  Freedom's  cause  the 

willing  sword  and  pen. 
Oh,  deep  enough  the  stigma  now,  to  think  the 

oath  I  took, 
And  the  dear  cause,  the  mighty  cause,  in  evil  hour 

forsook. 
Better  within  the  prisoner's  cage  be  cooped  as 

fettered  bird 
Than  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  joy  and  feel  that 

I  have  erred  ; 
Better  within  the  murky  ship,  which  looms  above 

the  bay, 
Than  look  on  scornful  brows  and  think,  'tis  fearful 

to  betray. 
Oh,  from  the  hour  when  virtue  drooped  my  heart 

has  been  a  cell, 
Where    stern    Remorse,    and    Grief,    and    Shame 

have  come  in  turn  to  dwell. 

Why  not  adhere  to  wounded  Right  ?     Why  pros 
trate  Right  in  dust  ? 


96 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  tlic  Revolution 

Why  think  the  recreant  was  secure  when  on  the 

lava  crust  ? 
The    lava    crust    of    policy,    how    brittle    in    its 

form , 
And  glowing  just  beneath  the  shell  volcanic  fires 

so  warm. 
But  need  I  take  up  arms,  and  plunge  within  the 

brother's  breast 
The  hostile  sword  which  once  I  thought  might  in 

its  scabbard  rest, 
Against  the  dear  Palmetto  State  with  maniac  rage 

conspire  ? 
Perish  the  thought.      I  will  not  wed  my  memory 

to  fire. 

Here,  here,  I  hurl  the  oath  aside,  if  such  its  fear 
ful  sweep. 
Sword  !   sword   of  Hayne  !    my   father's   sword  ! 

above  thee  I  could  weep. 
Forth   to   the  skirmish,   forth    again,    I   snap    the 

withes  that  bind  ; 
Samson  himself  again,  with  force  Philistia's  camp 

shall  find. 

*  *  *  *  :;:  *  * 

A  skirmish  with  the  scarlet  coats,  and  in  the  ranks 
again 

Is   he,   the   champion   disenthralled,   the   now  re 
pentant  Hayne. 

The  deep  disgrace  is  wiped  away,  the  leprous  spot 

is  healed  ; 
7  97 


'/<3  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

He  shouts  his  olden   battle-songs,    "Palmetto  in 

the  field!" 
Steady  and  firm,  a  column  now  of  light  and  hope 

and  faith, 
He  sweeps  along  with  heart  of  oak,  straight  on  in 

duty's  path. 
The  hand  that  signed  allegiance  once  to  Albion's 

sceptred  lord 
The  vials  of  the  patriot's  wrath  are  freely  from  it 

poured. 
•Win  back  the  forfeited  estate  of  name,  win  back 

the  crown, — 

The  crown  of  stern  integrity,  the  worthiest  renown. 
He  wins  it  back,  but  as  the  point  so  lustrous  has 

been  gained, 
A  prisoner  to  the  hulk  so  dark  that  noble  heart  is 

chained. 
And    Rawdon    says   he   will    not   grant   a   trial's 

common  form 

For  him,   who  must  prepare  to  meet  the  whirl 
wind  and  the  storm. 
Oh,  spare  him,  for  his  children's  sake,  they  cannot 

spare  their  sire  ; 
Oh,  spare  him,  and  your  name  august  the  muse 

shall  give  the  lyre. 
Thronging  they  come,   those   missives  white,   by 

ladies'  hands  prepared,— 
Say,  for  those  moving  documents  shall  Hayne  by 

thee  be  spared  ? 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Oh,  Charleston  does  not  wish  to  write  that  gallant 

name  in  dust  : 
Rawdon,  in  thee  they  yet  repose  a  willing  faith 

and  trust. 
#  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Ask  not  the  wolf  for  mercy  :  the  gibbet  looms  on 
high  ; 

The  spectral  form  of  Hayne  is  full  against  that 
tropic  sky. 

Rebel  and  traitor  !    such  the  words  which  reach 
his  dying  ear. 

Rebel   and   traitor,    didst   thou   say?      Oh,    such 
there  is  not  here. 

A  soul  of  truth,  a  heart  of  worth,  a  conscience  all 
serene, — 

Is  such  the  man  to  whom  belongs  an  epithet  so 
mean  ? 

No,  martyred  Hayne  !  thy  country  yet  that  mem 
ory  will  embalm  ; 

That  short  career  was  all  redeemed  by  valor,  cool 
and  calm. 

The  weakness  of  the  tempted  heart  we,  too,  per 
chance,  may  know  ; 

But   firmer,    fuller   loyalty    our   spirits    need    not 
show. 

If  for  an  interval  so  brief  he  could  diverge  from 
good, 

The  wrong,  retrieving  like  a  man,  he  purged  the 
stain  with  blood. 

99 


' '/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


THE   SAME   OLD    DRUM. 

When  the  corner-stone  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument 
was  laid,  in  1825,  General  Lafayette,  who  was  then  on  a 
visit  to  this  country,  was  present,  and  listened  with  great 
attention  to  the  splendid  oration  of  the  orator  of  the  day, 
the  Hon.  Daniel  Webster.  A  great  number  of  Revolu 
tionary  heroes  were  there,  and  among  the  rest  an  old 
drummer,  who,  on  the  heights  of  Bunker  Hill,  half  a 
century  before,  had  rallied  the  scattered  columns  of  the 
Americans  by  his  vigorous  beat.  To  make  the  cere 
mony  more  impressive,  he  carried  with  him  the  identical 
drum  whose  notes  had  fallen  on  the  ear  of  the  lamented 
General  Warren.  On  that  occasion  about  two  hundred 
Revolutionary  soldiers  were  present,  and  forty  who  had 
participated  in  the  action  of  Bunker  Hill.  Webster  ad 
dressed,  it  is  computed,  about  fifteen  thousand  of  his 
assembled  countrymen  in  his  most  noble  and  majestic 
strains.  That  festal  day  has  never  been  surpassed  in  all 
its  collateral  circumstances  of  interest. 

THE  throng  advanced,  and  'mid  the  peal  of  joy 

The  corner-stone  was  laid  on  Bunker's  height, 
Where  half  a  century's  sun,  in  rolling  course, 

Had    nourished    freedom's   plant   with  warmth 

and  light. 
One  eye  was  there,  which  in  its  infant  state 

Had  watched  the  progress  of  the  land  he  loved'; 
One  arm  was  there,  which  steadied  truth's  own 
ark, 

One  heart,  whose  sympathies  had  never  roved. 

100 


'7^  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution ". 

August  in  moral  greatness,  he  had  come 

To  tread  our  soil  ere  being's  sun  had  set  ; 
Changed  in  its  outward  aspect  now  with  age, 

But  fresh  in  soul,  the  generous  Lafayette. 
He   stood   where   Warren's   blood   the   sod 
made 

Rich  in  its  fertile  memories,  and  clear, 
And  as  within  its  bed  the  stone  reposed, 

He  dropped  upon  its  granite  form  a  tear. 


And    one   old    man,    whose    drum    in     Bunker's 
fray 

Had  rallied  broken  columns  by  its  spell, 
Was  there  to  linger  by  the  son  of  France, 

And,  garrulous  with  age,  his  story  tell. 
That  drum  !  he  held  it  yet,  though  fifty  years 

Had  laid  its  stirring  music  all  at  rest  ; 
That  drum,  whose  earliest  beat  a  nation  heard, 

Now  the  throned  mistress  of  the  mighty  West. 

The  drum  that  put  fresh  courage  in  the  heart 

When  'mid  the  battle  surge  the  standard  rose, 
Which  rolled  its  tocsin  when  the  spiral  flame 

Bespoke    fair    Charleston    vanquished    by    its 

foes. 
Then,  with  athletic  vigor,  how  he  brought 

The  lengthened  roll  responsive  to  his  beat  ! 
And  youthful  comrades  grasped  the  musket  tight, 

And  fainting  soldiers  stood  on  firmer  feet. 
101 


*/c5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

No  need,  old  veteran,  of  thy  antique  drum  ; 

Here  'tis  the  relic  of  those  fiercer  days, 
When  on  the  bayonet  the  beam  of  heaven 

Fell  to  find  beauty  in  reflected  rays.      * 
Peace    has    put    on    her    snow-white    garments 
now, 

With  smiles  of  love  she  beckons  thee  to  rest, 
And  eager  nations  catch  her  matron  voice, 

Inviting  them  to  pillow  on  her  breast. 

Old  drummer  of  the  Revolution,  hail  ! 

Auspicious  was  thy  presence  to  the  day, 
When  Webster's  mighty  accents  up  the  hill 

Floated  in  grandeur  to  the  clouds  away. 
Webster  beheld  you,  and  with  touch  of  skill 

He  played  upon  each  sympathetic  chord, 
Till  every  feeling  roused,  you  scarce  controlled 

The  tempest  wakened  by  his  potent  word. 

Old  drummer  of  the  Revolution,  hail  ! 

The  pageant  was  without  thee  less  in  worth  ; 
And  who  should  be  the  chosen  guest  but  he 

Whose    heart    had    memories   of    the   nation's 

birth  ? 
The  monument  has  risen,  but  they  are  gone 

Who  thronged  to  see  that  bright  inaugural ; 
And  Lafayette  and  Daniel  Webster  sleep, 

How    well,     how    soundly,     in    death's    silent 
hall  ! 

102 


*7<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  the  old  drummer,  too,  has  laid  him  down 

In  his  green  hills,  like  weary  child,  to  rest, 
His  work  accomplished,  and  fair  honor's  crown 

Reposing  sweetly  on  his  pulseless  breast. 
Oh,  my  dear  country,  let  those  olden  deeds 

Subdue  the  frenzied  rage  of  party  strife, 
Lest  Discord's  drum  shall  wake  a  traitor  band, 

And  rouse  the  venomed  snake,  Disunion,  into 
life. 


THE   BARON    DE   KALB. 

The  Baron  De  Kalb,  a  German  in  the  service  of 
France,  at  the  battle  of  Camden,  South  Carolina,  re 
ceived  eleven  wounds,  which  proved  fatal.  Lieutenant 
Du  Buysson,  his  trusty  aide-de  camp,  embracing  his 
wounded  and  sinking  general,  announced  his  rank  and 
nation,  and,  while  thus  generously  exposing  himself,  he 
was  wounded  and  taken  prisoner.  I)e  Kalb  had  a  pre 
sentiment  of  the  defeat  at  Camden. 

FROM  the  blue  Moselle,  where  the  waters  sleep, 
In  a  cradle  of  sunshine  broad  and  deep, 
Where  the  vine-hills  ring  with  the  song  of  glee, 
And  the  thyme  has  fragrance  for  bird  and  bee  ; 
From  the  land  of  love  and  beauty's  spell 
De  Kalb,  the  noble,  has  come  to  dwell 
In  the  forest  home  of  the  Western  wild, 
Where  Freedom  yearns  for  her  way-worn  child. 


'  76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  his  is  the  warm  Teutonic  blood 
Which  leaps  at  the  sound  of  the  rushing  flood, 
And  his  is  the  German  nerve  of  steel 
Which  will  not  bend  at  the  cannon's  peal  ; 
A  heart  that  clings  to  the  good  and  true 
As  the  cedar  stern,  but  as  mild  as  dew  ; 
Stern  in  its  impulse  against  the  wrong, 
Mild  to  the  feeble  who  meet  the  strong. 


Talk  to  him  now  of  that  bloody  fray, 

When  Bunker's  height  in  its  glory  lay  ; 

Talk  to  him  now  of  that  freezing  night, 

When  December's  stars  had  a  holy  light, 

When  the  winds  were  bleak  and  the  shores  were 

bare, 

As  Washington  crossed  the  Delaware, 
And  see  how  his  cheek,  to  his  feelings  true, 
Like  a  sunset  cloud,  has  a  deeper  hue. 


On  the  field  at  last,  on  the  battle-ground, 
His  heart  is  up  to  its  noblest  bound, 
And  Camden  will  tell,  on  the  future  page, 
Of  the  blood  of  youth  and  the  skill  of  age  ; 
Of  the  blood  of  youth,  for  De  Kalb  was  young 
In  the  hopes  he  cherished  when  tocsins  rung  ; 
Of  the  skill  of  age,  for  De  Kalb  was  wise, 
And  judgment  tempered  his  sympathies. 
104 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  tJic  Revolution 

Eleven  his  wounds  on  that  fatal  day, 
When  sabre  and  sword  made  clear  the  way  ; 
Eleven  his  wounds  when  Du  Buysson  sped 
With  his  master's  fate  his  own  to  wed. 
"  Oh,  spare  the  Baron  De  Kalb  !"  his  cry  ;  ' 
The  plaint  went  up  to  the  tropic  sky, 
But  the  pulse  of  Britain  beat  fiercely  on, 
And   her  heart  was  a  fragment  of  the   roughest 
stone. 

Du  Buysson  falls  to  the  victor'  share, 
For  such  was  the  issue  of  filial  care  ; 
And  the  loyal  heart  of  the  baron  beat 
From  the  field  of  mortals  its  sad  retreat. 
A  stranger  died  who  our  cause  revered, 
In  his  closing  moments  by  Freedom  cheered, 
Sounding  these  words  with  a  blessed  tone,— 
"  The  patriot  sinks,  but  the  work  goes  on." 


MRS.  WASHINGTON   IN   CAMP. 

Mrs.  Martha  Washington  was  accustomed  to  say  that, 
owing  to  her  yearly  residences  in.  the  camp  during  the 
winter  season,  she  had  heard  the  first  cannon  at  the 
opening  and  the-  last  at  the-  closing  of  all  the  campaigns 
in  the  Revolution. 

SHE  heard  the  opening  peal 
Which  ushered  in  the  fray. 
105 


*?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

When  first  on  Cambridge's  noble  heights 

The  stern  encampment  lay  ; 
From  blue  Potomac's  flood, 

From  home  and  its  employ, 
She  travelled  with  a  woman's  zeal 

To  prove  her  hero's  joy. 

When  weary  men  and  worn 

At  Morristown  were  placed, 
And  on  their  leader's  troubled  brow 

Sorrow  its  mark  had  traced, 
New  Jersey's  hills  beheld 

Her  fine,  majestic  form  ; 
New  Jersey's  heart  her  image  held 

In  its  recesses  warm. 

When  Pestilence  his  wing 

O'er  Valley  Forge  had  spread, 
The  gentle  wife  was  there,  amid 

The  dying  and  the  dead, 
And  benisons  fell  thick 

Where'er  her  footsteps  moved  ; 
She  was  the  idol  of  the  camp, 

Whose  simple  name  they  loved. 

When  Newburg  held  the  chief, 

By  Hudson's  flowing  tide, 
In  the  old  house  of  Holland  form 

She  nestled  to  his  side. 
1 06 


*/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

At  Middlebrook  she  stood, 

The  jewel  of  the  throng, 
Where  the  true  wives  of  Knox  and  Greene 

Joined  in  the  cheerful  song. 

When  first  the  shafts  of  scorn 

From  bitter  lips  were  sent, 
To  soothe  her  dear  one's  troubled  soul 

Her  magic  powers  were  bent ; 
And  he,  the  good  and  true, 

By  secret  foes  beset, 
Felt,  as  he  caught  her  truthful  gaze, 

He  had  an  Eden  yet. 

Oh,  ye  who  shrink  from  toil, 

Ye  maidens  of  the  lute, 
Would  such  privations,  doubly  stern, 

Your  dainty  feelings  suit  ? 
Yet  such  fatigue  was  borne, 

Until  the  day  was  won, 
By  her  who  earned  the  name  she  bore, 

The  Lady  Washington. 


WASHINGTON'S  VISIT  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 

After  the  surrender  of  Lord  Cormvallis  at  Vorktown, 
General  Washington,    accompanied  by  a  splendid  reti 
nue,  pressed  on  to  Fredericksbur^,  the  residence  of  his 
107 


'/<$  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

mother.  Then  dismissing  the  attendant  train,  he  went 
on  foot  to  her  modest  mansion,  to  renew  his  filial  inter 
course  and  receive  her  blessing. 

MOTHER  !  I  have  sped  to  greet  thee 

From  the  field  of  sounding  arms, 
For  my  bosom  yearned  to  meet  thee 

'Mid  the  camp  and  its  alarms. 
Early  days  and  memories  tender 

To  my  spirit's  portals  press, 
And  I  must  the  tribute  render 

Of  my  boyhood's  fond  caress. 

When  the  ocean-flag  that  covered 

England's  vessels  fired  my  zeal, 
O'er  my  path  thy  love  that  hovered 

Could  not  its  regrets  conceal ; 
And  the  warrant  which  my  brother 

Had  procured  me  was  but  vain  ; 
Naval  glory  from  his  mother 

Could  not  then  your  George  retain. 

If  thy  guardian  care  had  slumbered, 

Freedom  might  have  missed  thy  son  ; 
He  who  years  of  toil  has  numbered 

And  her  final  battle  won. 
Thou  didst  thus  reserve  for  glory 

Him  who  longed  to  tempt  the  wave, 
And  perchance  from  billows  hoary 

Didst  the  heart  that  loved  thee  save. 
108 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Mother  !  we  have  won  the  battle  ; 

Yorktown  tells  of  grounded  arms  ; 
Pounders  now  may  cease  to  rattle, 

Tyranny  no  longer  harms. 
To  our  banner,  where  entwining 

Gleamed  the  lily  crest  of  France, 
Albion  crouches,  though  repining, 

Crouches  with  a  shivered  lance. 

When  by  Braddock's  side  I  lingered 

By  Monongahela's  tide, 
And  fair  Hope,  the  rosy -fingered, 

Whispered  me  I  was  your  pride, 
Thought  I  not  that  laurels  greener, 

Issues  nobler,  sterner  yet, 
Would  in  years  maturer  springing 

Meet  thee  ere  thy  sun  had  set. 

With  a  retinue  so  splendid 

I  have  come  to  Frederick's  site, 
And  by  glorious  suite  attended, 

Feel  a  throb  of  keen  delight. 
Leaving  now  that  guard  of  honor, 

I  would  meet  thee  here  alone, 
And  within  the  modest  mansion 

Only  be  the  widow's  son. 

Mother  !  all  the  past  recalling, 
As  by  wizard's  fairy  spell, 

Let  us  talk  of  little  Mildred, 
Sister  gone  with  God  to  dwell  ; 
109 


'/£>  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Let  us  talk  of  Charles  and  Betty, 
Linking  with  them  Samuel,  John, 

Bound  a  pearly  string  together 
Ere  my  father  death  had  won. 

Mother  !  since  to  thee  is  owing 

All  my  principles  of  right, 
All  my  faith,  so  sure  and  glowing, 

In  the  long  and  tedious  fight, 
Here  from  Yorktown  promptly  speeding, 

I  would  bid  thee  share  my  joy, 
Just  as  much  thy  blessing  needing, 

Just  as  much  the  widow's  boy. 


GENERAL   WOODHULL. 

General  Woodhull,  after  the  delivery  of  his  sword,  was 
requested  to  cry  out,  "God  save  the  king  !"  Refusing 
to  obey  so  degrading  a  command,  he  received  at  each 
succeeding  denial  a  sabre-cut  or  a  bayonet-thrust.  Thus, 
with  his  head  and  body  covered  with  wounds,  he  was 
hurried  to  Jamaica,  and  exposed  to  public  gaze  in  the 
Stone  Church.  Thence  he  was  transferred  to  a  prison- 
ship  at  Gravesend,  and  finally  put  on  shore,  where  his 
arm  was  amputated,  having  mortified.  His  wife  accom 
panied  his  body  to  the  grave. 

SHE  bore  him  over  seventy  miles 

Of  long  and  weary  road, 
Beneath  September's  sunny  smiles, 

To  nature's  last  abode, 
no 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

How  had  he  perished  ?     Ask  the  wounds 

So  thick  upon  his  frame  ; 
Oh  !  ask  the  taunting  note  that  sounds 

When  Albion  breathes  his  name. 

He  gave  his  sword  when  circling  foes 

Cut  off  the  hope  of  flight  ; 
But  sabre-cuts  the  hand  bestows, 

Unused  to  honor's  plight. 
Those  sabre-cuts  baptized  with  blood 

The  fainting  form  of  him 
Who  to  his  creed  unbending  stood, 

'Mid  terrors  sternly  grim. 

He  would  not  say,  "  God  save  the  king  !" 

Nor  thus  the  trust  belie, 
Which  Tory  herds  were  bartering, 

When  gibbets  loomed  on  high  ; 
And  thrusts  of  cutlasses  were  given 

As  silence  sealed  his  tongue, 
For  pity's  golden  bond  was  riven 

Those  ruthless  hearts  among. 

Thus  hurried  to  Jamaica  fast, 

On  foot  he  bleeding  goes  ; 
The  drama  deeper  shades  doth  cast 

Ere  its  stern  actings  close. 
The  church  becomes  his  prison  now  ; 

How  could  its  stones  refrain, 
As,  standing  with  a  gory  brow, 

The  martyr  bears  his  chain  ? 
in 


'/<3  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Thence  pressed  on  board  the  prison-ship, 

He  languished  for  her  care, 
Who  glued  to  his  affection's  lips 

And  breathed  a  woman's  prayer. 
On  shore  at  last,  the  surgeon's  knife 

Brings  no  relief  to  him  ; 
His  arm  he  yielded  with  his  life, 

And  Woodhull's  eye  was  dim. 

She  came  !  his  own,  his  tried,  his  true  ! 

She  watched  his  latest  breath  ; 
Wiped  from  his  brow  the  clammy  dew, 

And  bore  him  cold  in  death 
O'er  seventy  miles  of  weary  way, 

To  where  his  kindred  dust 
Amid  sepulchral  silence  lay, 

In  Heaven's  kind  care  and  trust. 

"  God  save  the  king  !"     That  strain  has  fled 

Far  from  Columbia's  hills  ; 
Another  anthem-peal  has  spread 

By  all  our  vales  and  rills. 
Woodhull  !  the  lay  thou  wouldst  not  wake 

Though  sabre-cuts  came  free. 
Shall  never  in  its  cadence  break, 

If  we  have  sons  like  thee  ! 


112 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

FIVE   DAYS   TOO    LATE. 

I  lad  Cornwallis  been  able  to  hold  out  five  clays  longer, 
he  mii;ht  possibly  have  been  relieved,  for  on  the  24th 
of  October  (he  surrendered  on  the  igth)  a  British  fleet, 
conveying  an  army  of  seven  thousand  men,  arrived  off 
the  Chesapeake  ;  but  finding  that  his  lordship  had  already 
surrendered,  this  armament  returned  to  New  York  and 
Sandy  Hook. 

FIVE  days  too  late  !     Go  steer  your  fleet 

From  Chesapeake' s  broad  bay  ; 
Ye  cannot  share  a  battle's  heat, 

Whate'er  Sir  Henry  say. 
With  folded  colors,  silent  drums, 

Our  foe  his  arms  lays  down, 
Before  the  boasted  succor  comes 

To  strengthen  England's  crown. 

Five  days  too  late  !     He  waited  long, 

With  patient  heart  and  true, 
With  Clinton  ever  on  his  tongue, 

And  coming  aid  in  view. 
At  length  despatches  whispered  doubt ; 

Cornwallis  was  in  gloom  ; 
The  allied  forces  now  were  out  ; 

He  heard  their  cannon's  boom. 

Lafayette  and  Viomenil, 

Two  kindred  sons  of  France, 

His  two  redoubts  have  vanquished  well 

With  an  unbroken  lance  ; 
8  113 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

De  Grasse  and  Rochambeau  and  Knox, 

A  triple  strand  of  Fate, 
Have  given  him  electric  shocks, 

And  ye  are  all  too  late. 


The  ' '  Charon' '  frigate  was  on  fire, 

The  "Transport"  owned  the  flame, 
And  yet  we  rebels  did  not  tire, 

And  still  pursued  the  game. 
From  York  to  Gloucester  tried  to  pass 

The  army,  faint  and  worn, 
But  wind  and  rain  began  the  chase, 

And  it  was  back  by  morn. 

N 

The  God  of  Battles  had  decreed 

The  net-work  should  be  tight  ; 
His  justice  crowned  the  wond'rous  deed, 

And  man  pronounced  it  right. 
'Twas  Heaven  delayed  you,  haughty  fleet, 

And  made  you  fold  the  sail, 
Now  back  to  Sandy  Hook  retreat 

With  impulse  in  the  gale. 


Yes,  York  and  Gloucester  Point  shall  speak 

Of  God's  controlling  arm, 
And  tell  that  human  force  is  weak 

If  He  protect  from  harm. 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  mighty  prey  is  taken  now, 

Freedom  unveils  her  star, 
Cornwallis  to  repinings  low 

Has  changed  his  blast  of  war. 

Go,  take  your  brave  seven  thousand  back, 

The  succor  is  in  vain  ; 
Defeat  is  now  upon  your  track, 

The  cause  of  wrong  is  slain. 
Five  days  too  late  !     Go  move  the  keel 

From  Chesapeake' s  blue  wave, 
Learn  that  a  despot's  iron  heel 

Is  nought,  if  God  will  save. 


FRANCIS'S   TAVERN. 

In  Francis's  tavern,  New  York,  Washington  met,  on 
December  4,  1783,  the  principal  officers  of  the  Ameri 
can  army.  Filling  a  glass,  he  said:  "With  a  heart  full 
of  love  and  gratitude,  I  now  take  my  leave  of  you.  May 
your  future  be  as  prosperous  as  your  past  has  been  glori 
ous."  Having  drank,  he  requested  them  each  to  ad 
vance  and  take  him  by  the  hand.  This  was  done  in 
profound  silence.  Then,  forming  themselves  into  mute 
procession,  they  accompanied  him  to  Whitehall,  where  a 
barge  was  in  readiness  to  receive  him.  He  entered  it. 
He  took  off  his  hat,  respectfully  bowed  to  them,  and 
h.uk-  them  a  silent  farewell,  when  they  returned,  in  the 
same  dignified  way,  to  the  tavern. 

"5 


'/6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

HE  raised  the  goblet  to  his  lips, 

And  ere  he  drained  the  tide, 
As  if  their  joys  were  in  eclipse, 

His  trusty  warriors  sighed. 
He  pledged  them  in  the  ruddy  stream 

With  faltering  voice  and  slow  ; 
His  eye  with  moisture  dimmed  its  beam, 

For  heroes  grief  may  show. 

"  Brothers  in  arms  !  a  long  farewell, 

Rent  is  the  silken  tie, 
And  here  our  bosoms  heave  and  swell 

In  parting  company. 
In  bivouac  and  council-tent, 

And  with  the  charging  file, 
Each  to  the  other  comfort  lent, 

The  aiding  hand,  the  smile. 

"  Our  standard  !  centre  of  our  joys, 

Its  every  shred  was  dear, 
And  ease  and  gold  we  counted  toys 

Compared  with  soldiers'  cheer  ; 
And  when  our  country  breathed  our  name 

With  feeling  deep  and  true, 
The  vision  of  an  honest  fame 

Our  weakened  fancy  drew. 

"  Brothers  in  arms  !  on  history's  page 
Those  blazing  deeds  shall  stand, 

And  Valley  Forge  the  thoughts  engage, 
And  nerve  our  children's  hand. 
116 


'?6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

"Yes,  Bennington  and  Eutaw  Springs, 
And  Monmouth  with  its  tale, 

Will  greet  the  ears  of  Europe's  kings 
To  make  the  cheek  grow  pale. 


"  Brothers  in  arms  !  the  grave  has  won 

Its  trophies  from  our  side, 
And  Custis  sleeps,  my  cherished  son, 

My  beauty  and  my  pride  ; 
Hundreds  whose  hearts  beat  full  and  high, 

When  Charleston  felt  the  brand, 
Have  joined  the  heroes  in  the  sky, 

In  heaven's  unfettered  land. 


"  Oh,  sainted  dead  !  and  did  ye  know 

When  Yorktown's  grounded  arms 
Told  of  the  last  decisive  blow 

That  hushed  the  hearts'  alarms  ? 
Oh,  Woodhull,  Warren,  Wooster  !  say 

If,  when  our  flag  was  high, 
'Mid  glory's  blaze  ye  caught  its  ray 

And  felt  its  influence  nigh  ? 

"  Brothers  in  arms  !  our  homes  will  greet 

Their  masters  on  return  ; 
Dear  ones  will  come  with  quickened  feet 

And  love's  pure  incense  burn. 
117 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

' '  Then  tell  them  of  that  guiding  Hand, 

That  clear  directing  power, 
That  led  our  Macedonian  band 

To  victor's  final  hour. 

"  Come  each  and  give  the  truthful  grasp, 

Come  lock  your  hands  in  mine  ; 
Brothers  in  arms  !  one  final  clasp 

Above  this  pledge  of  wine  ; 
Your  past  !  Fame  claims  it  as  her  dower  ; 

Your  future  !  Peace  will  share  ; 
Go,  and  may  God  His  blessings  shower, 

And  make  you  each  His  care." 

The  hands  were  locked,  the  pledge  was  given, 

The  waiting  barge  appears  ; 
He  stepped  aboard,  the  tie  was  riven 

In  silence  and  in  tears. 
My  country  !  bind  them  to  thy  breast, 

Those  sons  who  parted  then, 
For  they  who  gave  devotion's  test 

Were  patriots  and  were  men  ! 


nS 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

WASHINGTON    RESIGNING   HIS    COM 
MISSION. 

On  the  230!  of  December,  1783,  in  presence  of  a  numer 
ous  company  of  spectators,  General  Washington  resigned 
his  commission  into  the  hands  of  Congress,  then  assem 
bled  at  Annapolis,  Maryland. 

TAKE  back  the  trust,  my  country,  here 

The  power  reverts  to  thee  ; 
I  come  with  conscience,  fair  and  clear, 

To  earn  a  good  degree. 
'  Mid  care  and  toil  my  weary  heart 

Has  longed  to  see  the  day 
When  office  and  myself  should  part, 

Ere  all  my  locks  were  gray. 

Take  my  commission  !     When  'twas  given, 

I  said  I  was  content 
To  fight  till  all  our  chains  were  riven, 

Nor  ask  emolument. 
And,  oh  !  the  smiles  and  tears  which  blend 

Around  my  vision  now, 
Here  make  my  grateful  thanks  ascend, 

That  I  have  kept  my  vow. 

Let  others  fancy,  if  they  can, 

The  current  of  my  bliss, 
When  murmuring  praises  swiftly  ran 

Through  old  Annapolis. 

IIQ 


'7<5  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

I  felt  that  payment  came  in  full 
For  stern  campaigns  and  long  ; 

I  felt  that  doubly  beautiful 
Was  that  approving  song. 


Fathers  !   I  thank  you  for  the  trust, 

Which  joyously  I  yield, 
For  mine  was  not  ambition's  lust, 

Though  beckoned  to  the  field  ; 
And  glad  am  I  that  peace  at  last 

Becomes  the  envied  boon 
Of  those  who  heard  the  bugle-blast, 

And  bore  the  heat  of  noon. 


Take  back  the  trust ;   I  long  to  press 

My  threshold  once  again, 
When  good  old  neighbors  throng  to  bless 

The  reunited  chain. 
My  spear  to  ploughshare  let  me  turn, 

My  sword  to  pruning-hook, 
And  as  the  simple  farmer  learn 

From  nature's  teeming  book. 

Take  back  the  trust,  and  say  that  I 

Have  earned  a  good  degree  ; 
Let  my  dear  country  testify 

That  she  was  all  to  me. 

120 


'^6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

She  knows  I  come  with  conscience  clear. 
With  calm,  approving  breast, 

To  leave  my  tried  commission  here, 
And  pass  away  to  rest. 


TREATIES   OF   AMITY. 

The  independence  of  the  United  States  was  acknowl 
edged  by  Sweden  on  the  5th  of  February,  1783  ;  by  Den 
mark  on  the  25th  ;  by  Spain  on  the  24th  of  March,  and 
by  Russia  in  July.  Treaties  of  amity  and  commerce 
were  also  concluded  with  each  of  these  powers. 

SHE  stands  erect  before  the  powers  of  earth, 

To  claim  their  sanction  and  their  meed  receive  : 
And  Europe's  sovereigns,  to  attest  her  worth, 

Hasten  with  hers  their  names  to  interweave. 
For  they  have  heard  of  all  that  sanguine  strife 

Which  roused  the  granite  purpose  of  her  will, 
And  how  at  last,  with  scarcely  rescued  life, 

She  to  the  future  looks,  all  hopeful  still. 

She  stands  erect  before  the  powers  of  earth, 

Girding  her  loins  for  glory's  lustrous  crown. 
And  as  she  flings  her  gorgeous  ensign  forth, 

The  elder  nations  her  fair  birthright  own  ; 
They  come  to  grasp  her  hand  with  love  and  truth, 

To  form  the  league  her  interest  which  seals, 
And  catch  from  her  the  ardent  glow  of  youth, 

Which,  as  they  hail  her,  to  their  bosom  steals. 

121 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  first  old  Sweden,  where  Adolphus  ruled, 

Monarch  who  right  espoused  and  held  it  fast, 
Whose     mind     and     heart     by    discipline    were 
schooled, 

Mild  as  the  zephyr,  stern  'mid  war's  loud  blast. 
Old  Sweden,  with  her  boreal  lights  aglow, 

Hailed  the  new  star  whose  virgin  disk  appeared, 
And  Denmark  came,  a  fostering  arm  to  throw 

Around  the  pillar  now  by  freedom  reared. 


Spain,  too,  where  Charles  and  Philip,  sire  and  son, 

Held  the  firm  rein  beneath  the  tropic  sky, 
Beheld  what  God  by  Washington  had  done, 

And  hastened  all  her  joy  to  testify. 
And  Russia,  whose  imperial  Peter  stood 

In  bold  relief  upon  her  infant  page, 
Prepared  to  canonize  the  great  and  good, 

And  in  the  work  of  amity  engage. 


From  Elsinore  to  where  the  Escurial  pile 

Told  of  the  sacred  dust  of  chivalry, 
Through  Europe's  length,  the  continent  and  isle, 

Rang  the  bold  deeds  of  her  who  now  was  free. 
Monmouth  and  Saratoga  had  their  spell 

From  Stockholm  to  the  Adriatic  main, 
And  by  the  blue  Garonne  could  children  tell 

How  Britain  wept  beside  her  sundered  chain. 

122 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

And  when  America  uprose  at  last 

To  challenge  homage  from  the  gazing  throng, 
And  Yorktown's  fame  to  burning  history  passed, 

There  filled  her  ear  a  swell  of  generous  song  ; 
For  even  kings  had  marked  her  onward  stride, 

Her  alternating  phases  to  the  goal, 
And  when  she  gained  it  felt  an  honest  pride, 

And  in  their  treaties  threw  an  ardent  soul. 

Oh  !  my  dear  country,  how  thy  pulses  beat 

When  thou  'mid   sovereign  nations  took   thy 

place  ! 

The  price  was  weighty,  but  the  gain  was  sweet, 
Blooming  the  crown,  though  long  and  hard  the 

race. 
Begun  in  fears,  continued  in  suspense, 

The   fight   for   truth    had   closed   'mid    joyous 

peals  ; 

And  as  thou  marked  thy  fair  inheritance, 
To  thy  moist  lid  is  it  a  tear-drop  steals  ? 

Yes,  tears  of  gratitude  become  thee  now, 

With  wider  sway  and  more  exalted  name, 
With  coronet  upon  thy  matron  brow, 

And  history  wedded  to  eternal  fame. 
Oh  !  stand,  my  country,  by  Potomac's  wave, 

Where  sleeps  thy  Father  in  his  tomb  august, 
And  there  a  blessing  from  his  spirit  crave 

Upon  thy  mighty  charge,  thy  more  than  hal 
lowed  trust. 

123 


*f6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

THE   REGIMENT   OF   TEN. 

The  citizens  of  Alexandria,  when  convened,  consti 
tuted  the  first  public  company  in  America  which  had  the 
pleasure  of  pouring  a  libation  to  the  prosperity  of  the  ten 
States  which  had  actually  adopted  the  general  govern 
ment. —  Washington's  letter  to  Pinkney,  June  28, 1788. 

PINKNEY  !    the    tenth    has  signed  the   bond,   ten 

Sovereign  States  have  come  ; 
No  sweeter  music  have  they  found  than  Federal 

fife  and  drum  ; 
Ten  links  are  forged,  and  yet  the  chain  a  mightier 

band  shall  own, 
Successive  States  shall  grasp  the  pen  when  Union's 

worth  is  known, 
Objections  melting  like  the  snow  beneath  an  April 

beam. 
One  mighty  front  our  land  shall  show,  nor  riven 

fragments  seem  ; 

Old  Alexandria  sent  her  chime  in  merry  notes  afar, 
When  our  Virginia,  true  to  time,  burst  a  new-risen 

Star. 
Pinkney  !    we   poured    libations   out    such   as   no 

Grecian  knew, 
And  Athens  had  no  blended  shout  like  our  huzzas 

so  true  ; 
Rockets  have  burst  and  jovial  cheer  the  holiday 

has  told, 
Would  that  my  Pinkney  had  been  here  our  revels 

to  behold. 

124 


'/£>  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Not  Yorktown  with  surrendered  host,  its  banners 

and  its  men, 

Has  proved  to  me  so  proud  a  boast  as  those  sur 
rendered  ten 
Our  Constitution,  like  a  bride,  arrayed  in  purest 

sheen, 
Has   come  for  shelter  to  our   side  while  on   her 

breast  we  lean. 
That  Federal  bond  !  my  spirit  leaps  to  trace  the 

future  good 
Which    in    its    every  section    sleeps,   though    yet 

scarce  understood, 
Evolving  blessings  year  by  year,  dissension  may 

not  spring, 
When  to  our  people's  hearts  so  clear  its  cherished 

mandates  ring. 
Pinkney  !  not  Colonies,  but  States,  sovereign  yet 

banded  powers, 
With  circling  arms,  like  joyous  mates,  shall  dance 

away  the  hours  ; 
A  Covenant  of  Salt  shall  prove   the   league   our 

people  make, 
And  others  of  that  feast  of  love  shall  one  by  one 

partake, 
Nor   shall    be   wanting    men   of  truth    in    blissful 

years  to  come 
To  vindicate  its  every  clause  and  strike  foul  Treason 

dumb  ; 


125 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  comments  of  the  wise  and  great  upon  its  text 

shall  be 
Like  fringe  of  blue  on  Jewish  robe,  to  grace  its 

symmetry  ; 
And  all  our  thousands  in  their  tents,  when  days 

are  growing  dark, 
Shall  turn  their  eyes,  one  blended  gaze,  towards  its 

Radiant  Ark. 

Then  help  me  to  a  note  of  joy,  old  Alexandria  cries, 
The  little  one  who  finds  his  toy  has  not  such  ec 
stasies. 

Wewant  thatOriental  bandof sackbut,  harp, and  lute 
To  grace  an  epoch  so  august  and  aid  Columbia's 

flute  ; 
But,  deares't  Pinkney,  ere  I  start  my  ploughshare 

to  its  task, 

Your  close  attention  to  my  toast  I  very  freely  ask. 
Then  I  will  moderate  my  warmth  in  farmer's  toil 

again, 
And  sink  the  Federal  Covenant  in  leagues  of  oats 

and  grain  : 
"  Here's  to  the  heads  so  cool  and  calm,  on  future 

good  intent, 
Who    framed   with    caution,    yet    with    zeal,    the 

honored  instrument  ; 
Here's  to  the  signers  of  the  chart,  here's  to  their 

golden  pen, 

Here's  to  the  States,  now  one  in  heart,  that  Regi 
ment  of  Ten. ' ' 

126 


Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 


ADMINISTER   THE   OATH. 

ADMINISTER  the  oath,  and  give  the  reins  to  up 
right  hands ; 

And  let  our  country  take  her  place  amid  the  scep- 
tered  lands  ; 

Without  a  royal  coronet,  nor  purple-cinctured 
limb, 

'Mid  all  the  princely  brotherhood,  oh  !  who  eclipses 
him  ? 


Within  the  open  gallery,  his  look  serene  and  calm, 

While  Freedom  with  a  new-strung  lyre  stands  by 
to  wake  the  psalm, 

He  waits  to  pledge  his  honest  word  that  faithful 
he  will  prove, 

Nor  from  integrity  depart,  nor  from  the  right  re 
move, 


Oh  !  Chancellor,  that  bond  apart,  his  spirit  would 
not  swerve, 

The  Constitution  he  would  still  a  holy  trust  pre 
serve  ; 

His   life    has  been  a  sacrifice,   knit  to  the  altar's 
horn, 

And  his  can  be  no  blemished  age  who  had  so  pure 
a  morn. 

127 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

Hark  !  the  loud  swell  of  manly  notes, — well  may 
the  air  be  rent, 

A  lustrous  drama  he  begins,  their  honored  Presi 
dent  ; 

And  mighty  issues  he  beholds  with  clear,  anointed 
eye, 

Evolving,  while  his  country  solves,  the  problem 
Liberty. 

Look  on  him  !  see,  his  locks  are  gray,  but  how 
erect  his  form!  ' 

Ah  !  he  has  known  the  iron  hail  of  many  a  battle- 
storm, 

And  he  has  crossed  on  Christmas-eve,  when  forest- 
trees  were  bare, 

With  that  old  Continental  coat,  the  frozen  Dela 
ware. 

Soon  shall  the  Senate  and  the  House  his  counsels 

sage  receive, 
Who  for  the  Cabinet  profound  the  stirring  camp 

can  leave, 
Alike  at  home  with  pen  or  sword,  so  fortune  blest 

decrees, 
In  war  a  Caesar,  and  in  peace  a  thoughtful  Socrates. 

The  cannon  ye  have  heard  to-day,  it  had  no  tone 

of  Mars, 
Ye  are  no  slaves  by  tyrants  kept  to  peep  through 

golden  bars  ; 

128 


'  j6  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

No  chartered  wrongs  impose  the  yoke  and  deck 

that  yoke  with  gems, 
To  make  you  fondle  what  you  hate  and  kiss  their 

diadems. 


The  Government  you  honor  now,  what  is  it  but 

your  choice, 
The  fig-tree  planted  by  your  hands,  beneath  it  ye 

rejoice, 
And  every  shout  of  ecstasy  that  through  the  welkin 

rings, 
Shows  that  your  axe  has  cleared  away  the  upas 

growth  of  kings. 


'Twas  April  when  at  Lexington  the  martyr-blood 

flowed  fast, 
And    through   your  borders   loudly  pealed    that 

resurrection  blast ; 
'Tis   April   now,    but   Flora's   crown,    unwet    by 

crimson  dew, 
Settles  in  beauty  and  in  balm  on  him  the  good  and 

true. 

Look  on  him  !  oh,  his  mother's  heart  is  beating 

fast  to-day, 
This  crowning  rapture  is  her  own  ere  she  has  past 

away  ; 
9  129 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

The  truthful  boy,   the  active   man,   the   Chief  to 

warfare  bent, 
The  conqueror  with  Yorktown's  bays,  and  now  the 

President. 


THE   FIRST   CABINET. 

"At  the  head  of  the  Department  of  State  he  placed 
Thomas  Jefferson  ;  at  the  head  of  the  Treasury,  Alex 
ander  Hamilton  ;  at  the  head  of  the  War  Department, 
General  Knox  ;  in  the  office  of  Attorney-General,  Ed 
mund  Randolph  ;  and  at  the  head  of  the  Judicial  De 
partment,  Mr.  Jay.  Thus  the  first  Cabinet  was  fully 
organized." 

THE  Ship  of  State  must  sail, 
But  to  woo  a  prosperous  gale  ; 
Stout  hearts  and  ready  hands 
Must  carry  out  commands 

On  the  deck. 

They  must  know  the  screw-bolts  well, 
Each  inch  of  cordage  tell, 
When  the  yard-arms  to  square, 
Or  scud  with  poles  all  bare, 

Lest  she  wreck. 

The  captain  has  his  eye 
Full  fixed  upon  the  sky, 
To  watch  its  fitful  look  ; 
The  firmament,  his  book, 
Must  be  scanned. 
130 


'76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

A  cargo  rich  as  gems, 
For  it  the  flood  he  stems, 
And  the  ocean's  highway  keeps 
Where  no  Maelstrom  current  sweeps 
Either  hand. 


Ere  she  launches  free  and  full, 
And  like  child  let  loose  from  school, 
Plunges  forth  into  the  tide, 
With  hilarity  and  pride, 

From  the  dock, 
Oh  !  tell  us  every  name 
Which  is  coupled  with  her  fame  ! 
They  who  to  time  go  down, 
As  the  treasures  of  renown 

They  unlock  ! 


See,  Jefferson,  the  sage, 
And  Hamilton  engage, 
To  use  their  naval  lore, 
While  Knox  imparts  his  store, 

Kind  of  heart. 

Now  Randolph  link  with  Jay, 
For  'tis  time  to  launch  away  ; 
Your  ensign's  in  the  breeze, 
And  Freedom's  melodies 

Cheer  your  start  ! 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

That  mighty  Ship  of  State 
Must  Jehovah's  succor  wait, 
Or  her  Cabinet  complete 
May  dissension's  tempest  meet, 

And  disperse. 

Oh  !  seek  his  sheltering  wing, 
As  to  Washington  you  cling  ; 
And  as  you  gain  the  shore, 
A  blessing  He  will  pour, 

Not  a  curse. 


THE   CLOSING   LYRIC. 

The  happiness  of  America  is  intimately  connected  with 
the  happiness  of  all  mankind.  She  will  become  the 
safe  and  respected  asylum  of  virtue,  integrity,  toleration, 
equality,  and  tranquil  happiness. — Lafayette"  s  letter  to  his 
wife,  May  30,  7777. 

WHEN  in  the  past  I  longed  to  sweep  the  lyre, 

My  thoughts  ranged  freely  o'er  the  deeds  of 

Fame, 
And  though  it  seemed  presumption  to  aspire 

To  throw  a  halo  round  my  country's  name, 
Yet  did  I  hope  to  sing  of  those  bright  deeds, 

Compared  to  which  Thermopylae  was  dull, 
Though  mine  were  pipings  on  a  shepherd's  reed, 

More  earnest  than  ornate,  more  true  than  beau 
tiful. 


'/<5  Lyrics  of  tJie  Revolution 

And  true  to  that  old  instinct,  I  have  sung 

Dear   Freedom's   onward    march    for  toilsome 

years, 
From  where  at  Concord  the  vast  mine  was  sprung, 

To  where  at  Yorktown  we  entombed  our  fears. 
And  often  as  I  traced  the  devious  path, 

The  labyrinthine  maze  my  fathers  trod, 
And  saw  the  despot  with  his  scowl  of  wrath, 

I  felt  my  country's  stay,  her  only  prop  was  God. 


When  first  I  rolled  a  lyric  from  the  chord, 

And  told  of  Warren,  martyred  in  his  prime, 
My  father  lived  to  praise  each  ardent  word, 

And  glow  at  hearing  deeds  of  olden  time. 
And  often  as  I  read  the  sounding  line 

His  bosom  swelled  and  tear-drops  gathered  free, 
For  Putnam's  name  with  him  was  but  divine, 

And  Stony  Point  brought  up  the  deeds  of  An 
thony. 

Now,  as  I  close  the  simple  lyric  strain, 

He  is  not  here  to  crown  my  task  complete, 
For  his  warm  eulogy  I  look  in  vain  ; 

No  more  he  springs  the  stanza  warm  to  greet. 
He  whose  own  ancestor  was  in  the  fray  ; 

He  whose  first  teachings  were  of  all  the  brave, 
Whose  love  of  country  never  knew  decay, 

Is  with  his  fathers  now,  a  tenant  of  the  grave. 
'33 


' 76  Lyrics  of  the  Revolution 

My  little  offering  laid  on  Freedom's  shrine, 

My  simple  lyrics  may  oblivion  find, 
But  the  pure  wreath  my  fingers  loved  to  twine 

May  be  preserved  as  a  memento  kind. 
Some  rural  hearth  may  garner  up  my  song, 

Some  lovely  maiden  in  her  scrap-book  place 
Those  heartfelt  numbers  which  were  borne  along 

In  rough  heroic  strength,  though  wanting  oft  in 
grace. 

My  country  !  glorious,  happy,  and  secure, 

Write  Bunker  Hill,  the  blazon  of  thy  shield, 
And  that  dear  guardian,  Washington  the  pure, 

Be  thy  true  crest  upon  an  azure  field. 
Think  of  the  past,  its  wrongs,  its  tale  of  woe, 

Think  of  the  huts  of  logs  where  patriots  dwelt, 
Think  how  ere  Freedom  struck  the  final  blow 

Her  God  she  did  invoke  and  at  His  footstool 
knelt. 

Then  with  thy  memory  stored  with  noble  deeds, 

Stretch  thy  broad  arms  to  clasp  each  ocean  wide, 
And  vow  that  he  from  honor  who  recedes 

Shall  be  to  foul  contempt  and  scorn  allied. 
Be  thine  the  flag  which  knows  no  spot  nor  stain, 
Be   thine   the   sword  which    flashed   at    Eutaw 

Springs, 

And  throned  upon  thy  mountains  shalt  thou  reign 
When  diadems  are  dust  and  time  has  swallowed 
kings. 

134 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


M191955 

<b~3 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


YC159432 


